A Stitch in Time
by Cleo the Muse
Summary: An accident offworld leaves Daniel downsized and hot property for Simmons and the not so nice NID guys. To get him out of the immediate line of fire, Jack takes him off to Minnesota, where misunderstandings, clichés, and cuteness abound! COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A Stitch in Time** by Cleo the Muse  
Rating: All Ages  
Genre: Gen, Little Danny (Aware), Action/Adventure, Crossover (_Lilo & Stitch_), Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Smarm  
Warnings: Big little misunderstandings, trite Minnesotan clichés, and rampant fluffy cuteness  
Episodes: Alternate "Meridian" with anything up to that fair game.  
Synopsis: An accident offworld leaves Daniel toddler-sized and hot property for Simmons and the not-so-nice NID guys. To get him out of the immediate "line of fire", Jack takes him off to Minnesota, where misunderstandings, clichés, and cuteness abound!  
Status: In Progress  
Notes: Big hug to the Bug-Eyed Monster, who spawned this particular bunny back in January! Obviously, when creating a crossover like this, there are some things which can safely be carried over from one universe to the other, but many _many _other things which can not be. An Aware!Danny is not going to react in the same ways as a genuine child of his age, Minnesota is a far cry from Hawaii, and though a conflict with a social worker worked in another LD 'fic, it couldn't with this one. I think you'll find both worlds blended remarkably well and recognizably!

* * *

**A Stitch in Time**

Not very long ago, in a galaxy surprisingly nearby--the Milky Way, actually--there was a planet called Turo, which was the seat of the United Galactic Federation. The name of the governing body was something of a misnomer, as it was constantly battling inner turmoil, nowhere near big enough to encompass the entire galaxy in which it was based, and just barely democratic... but no one could say they didn't have high aspirations. Still, chaos was usually made into order by the rulers of the alliance, and the wisest and most powerful of these was the Grand Councilwoman.

The Grand Councilwoman wasn't often called upon to directly judge the crimes of individual citizens of the Galactic Federation, but when it came to Doctor Jumba Jookiba, she could hardly stand by idly. Genetic experimentation had been forbidden by the Federation for twenty-five years and seventy-one days, but the graduate of _Pak'tilaq'dazhtaki_--also known as the Evil Genius University--had been defying this law for the last twenty-five years and sixty-four days. He _claimed_ that the diminuitive Doctor Jacques von Hämsterwiel had been his partner-in-crime and financier, and that the lout had seen fit to "cheat Jumba, steal from Jumba, embarrass Jumba, and finally, _fink _on Jumba to Galactic Federation."

Whatever. Even if Hämsterwiel had done all those things, the true matter at stake was that Doctor Jumba had knowingly violated law when he created not one, not two, but six hundred and twenty-six abominations! Fortunately for the safety of all living beings and an infinite number of inanimate objects, the final specimen had been detained along with Jumba.

"Read the charges," the Grand Councilwoman ordered.

The physically-imposing Captain Gantu did the honors. "Doctor Jumba Jookiba, lead scientist of Galaxy Defense Industries, you stand before this council accused of illegal genetic experimentation!"

There was a collective gasp teleprompted from the assembly of diplomats, legislators, and reporters, as well as representatives from the Beings Against the Defamation of Evil Geniuses and Gifted Scientists. Unlike the rest of the crowd, the B.A.D.E.G.G.S. probably were reacting only to the reminder that genetic experimentation was _illegal_.

"How do you plead?" the Grand Councilwoman questioned.

Doctor Jumba's arms crossed in indignation. "Not guilty! My experiments are only theoretical... completely within legal boundaries!"

"We believe you actually created something," she reminded him as the detainment transport entered the chambers, bearing the presently-concealed evidence the council had against the scientist.

"'Created something'?" Jumba repeated. "Ha! But that would be irresponsible and unethical. I would never, ever--" The transport's mechanisms were released, revealing the creature within the cage to the this-time-unprompted gasps of the audience "--make more than one," he admitted.

Although currently confined to the inside of its temporary prisoner transport pod, the genetically-engineered creation was clearly designed for speed and destructive capability. Looking past the fluffy blue fur, the creature had four arms with strength far greater than their size would imply. Ignoring the shiny nose and cutely-waving antennae revealed razor-sharp teeth and intelligently-gleaming eyes.

Gantu spoke for pretty much everyone when he asked, "What is that monstrosity?"

The scientist gaped. "Monstrosity? What you see before you is the first of a new species." He turned to the strange being and smiled as it crawled the inside of its enclosure. "I call it Experiment Six-Two-Six. He is bulletproof, fireproof, and can think faster than supercomputer! He can see in the dark and move objects 3,000 times his size! His only instinct: to destroy everything he touches!" Waving his arms about for emphasis, the doctor lost his balance and fell back onto his own platform, cackling.

Classic example of Advanced Maniacal Laughter instruction from the Evil Genius University.

"So it _is_ a monster," the Grand Councilwoman concluded.

"Hey, just a little one!" Jumba protested.

Gantu, whose people had been one of the most vocally obnoxious about banning genetic experimentation, got decidedly hot-headed, pounding the table for emphasis. "It is an affront to nature; it must be destroyed!"

"Calm yourself, Captain Gantu. Perhaps it can be reasoned with." The Grand Councilwoman steepled her fingertips. "Experiment Six-Two-Six... give us some sign you understand any of this. Show us that there is something inside you that is good."

Inside his enclosure, the diminutive creature made a noise as though clearing its throat. As it straightened, the audience leaned forward in their seats--a decidedly dangerous thing to do, considering how far it was to the council chamber's floor. Then the being pressed its nose against the glass and declared, "_Meega... nala kweesta!_"

The less delicately-stomached among them pitched their cookies--or as was the case of the councilor from 00110110, their nuts and bolts. "So naughty!" the Grand Councilwoman exclaimed in shock, as the creature cackled.

"I didn't teach it that!" Jumba protested.

"Place that Idiot Scientist under arrest!" boomed Gantu.

"I prefer to be called 'Evil Genius!'" the Idiot Scientist protested as his platform was whisked away from the council chambers. And it was no wonder he wasn't enamored of the insult. The term "Idiot Scientist" was reserved for the most stupendously brilliant of all citizens of the Galactic Federation, with the most recent receipient having been a hundred years ago: the astrocartographer who had so poorly divided the galaxy into "quadrants" that fifteen additional quadrants had to be named to account for the parts of space he missed. Whoever heard of anything having nineteen quadrants?

The Grand Councilwoman sighed. "And as for that abomination... it is the flawed product of a deranged mind. It has no place among us. Captain Gantu, take him away."

"With pleasure," the behemoth replied.

Less than an hour later, Six-Two-Six escaped.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
//takes a deep breath// ...and here we go... 


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Jack sighed. "Daniel, I brought you to the cabin to fish and _relax_, not get worked up over some translation."

"I'm not getting worked up," the archaeologist replied petulantly.

"Oh, yes you are. That pen came within three inches of hitting me."

"You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm impressed. Your aim's improving." Jack couldn't stop the inevitable quirk of his lips and--unsurprisingly--the little boy sitting at the small dining table couldn't help but return the expression.

"Okay, fine," Daniel answered. "I _am_ getting worked up about this translation because I had to sneak it into my luggage, and therefore wasn't able to bring all the references I needed to finish it."

"Ah! And who's bright idea was it to _sneak_ a translation project in his luggage in the first place?"

"I didn't want to be _bored_."

"Fishing isn't boring."

"It is to me." He was quite skilled at petulance, actually.

"Well, _I_ think looking at rocks and squiggles all day is boring," Jack replied, then cringed at the deadly glare levelled his direction.

Daniel Jackson at _any_ size had never had any difficulty conveying a thousand words with a single look, and this one could have been Tolstoy's _War and Peace_, cover to cover. Especially the "war" part. This look said, "My patience is nearly at an end. Don't push it or face my pint-sized but nevertheless deadly wrath." There was also the possibility that Daniel would sic Teal'c on him when they got back to the Mountain. Either way, things weren't looking well for Jack's continued health and well-being should he persist with this particular conversational thread.

"Fine, fine," Jack relented, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm going to go outside and fish. When you finally get bored trying to translate those squiggles, I'll have a spare rod and reel waiting for you."

"Okay. Can you get me my pen before you go?"

"Nope. You can practice some of that ol' hand-eye-coordination stuff the Doc wants you to work on by getting it yourself."

Heaving an exaggerated sigh and rolling his eyes, the down-sized archaeologist climbed off of the booster seat and dropped to the floor with a loud thump. Only a week after a freak accident off-world turned him into a pint-sized squirt, Jack was nowhere near adjusted to the much-smaller size of his friend. Said friend was probably even less accustomed to his new form, which might partly account for his bouts of sullen silence between flashes of snarkiness.

Of course, the colonel was more than perfectly aware that it could have been far, far worse. The experiment the Kelownan people had been working on had involved massive amounts of nuclear energy, which--according to Carter--meant that when the core "went off", it should have filled the lab with deadly radiation. Jack was _still_ pissed at Daniel for breaking through the glass observation window to disarm it, knowing that it would probably be his final act before joining the heavenly choirs. Or not, given Daniel's ability to dodge death. He was quite skilled at that, too.

Then again, if he hadn't done what he did and the thing had exploded, they might have _all _been standing in line at the Pearly Gates. Well, at least Jack hoped that's what was in store for him, but given _his_ not-so-cheery past...

Within twenty-four hours, all the Kelownan scientists in the room had been reduced to diaper-sportin' size. Daniel, although initially several years younger than most of the victims, had had a much shorter exposure than the rest. According to Doctor Fraiser, he was reduced to approximately four years old. Another of the aliens, an "ethics" geek named Jonas Quinn, might have had a year or two knocked off, but who could tell with an alien?

The crux of it all, though, was when the Kelownan government tried to get them to turn Daniel over to face sabotage charges. Jack hadn't exactly said "over my dead body", but the feeling had certainly been implied when he suggested General Hammond block the planet's address out of the dialing computer. Actually, he'd _first_ suggested they set off the time-stealing-bomb on the Kelownan government, but the general had agreed to the less-extreme measure. Jack then went to give his now-_much-_younger teammate a stern lecture about how much of a pain in the neck his martyr-complex had become.

The forty-two-inch-tall, thirty-five year-old xenoarchaeologist looked suitably chastized and apologetic for scaring the bejeezus out of Jack again, and that alone was enough to make him wonder what was going on inside that blond-headed little noggin of his. The next day, though, he tried to talk his way into going on an offworld expedition with SG-17. The colonel had put his foot firmly down on _that_ idea, suggesting a field trip to Minnesota instead. Daniel protested, but General Hammond overruled, thinking it was a fine idea.

So here they were, miles from nowhere in the middle of the Minnesota back-country. Jack's pond still had no fish, but as he'd once tried to explain to Teal'c, the fish themselves were hardly the point of the exercise anyway. Actually, he was looking forward to having a similar conversation with Daniel, though he was certain the younger man--well, _boy_--would probably bore _him_ to death with a lecture on the various fishing practices of civilizations of antiquity.

"Jack, stop staring at me," Daniel griped, squirming around in his booster seat and looking very annoyed. If it was a scary look on a thirty-five year-old, then it was postively knee-weakening on a four year-old. "I'm _fine_."

"Aren't you always?" Jack replied before he could stop himself.

Daniel's eyes narrowed, and without glasses to shield his glare, the colonel took the full brunt of it. Jack expected some sort of diatribe about the unfairness of Daniel suddenly being nearly half the height he used to be, having to use a great big fat pen because his little fingers wouldn't grasp a regular one, not being allowed to drink coffee, having to take naps twice a day, or any of the other injustices of suddenly being down-sized, but the shrimp was doing a remarkable impression of a clam.

"Yeah, uh..." Jack began, disconcerted. "I'll go outside and... um... fish."

* * *

Author's Notes:  
No, I am _not_ going to make any promises about posting a chapter a day. The last time I did that, I ended up spending the next three months with my PDA and/or laptop permanently attached... 


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

"Where is he?!" the Grand Councilwoman demanded, storming into the command center of the Galactic Federation fleet.

A fearful-looking technician swiveled around in his chair. "He's still in hyperspace."

"Where will he exit?"

"Calculating now," began an even-more tiny creature, furiously working the buttons on her console. "Quadrant seventeen... section zero-zero-five... area fifty-one. A planet called... Ee-arth."

It sounded familiar enough, but the Grand Councilwoman couldn't be certain. "I want an expert on this planet in here now!" She pointed to a large swath of blue covering most of the planet. "What is that?"

"Water," replied a third technician. "Most of the planet is covered in it."

"He won't survive in water. His molecular density is too great," she smirked. But of course the little icon representing the stolen red police cruiser--why did it have to be the _red_ one?--wasn't _heading_ for the water, it was aimed right for the central part of one of the northern continents. "No..."

Sure enough, the little blip stopped, beeping softly atop the brilliant green that represented that planet's doomed landmass. "Of course. How much time do we have?"

"We have projected his landing at three hours, forty-two minutes," replied the tiny pink tech.

That, thankfully, was more than enough time to get a proper facial, which would do _wonders_ to improve her mood. "Oh, we have to gas the planet," the Grand Councilwoman sighed.

A high-pitched, scratchy voice that reminded her of her elderly great-aunt called out, "Hold it! Hold everything!"

Annoyed, the Grand Councilwoman turned around to confront a one-eyed representative of the Diplomacy, Understanding, and Mediation Bureau. The D.U.M.B. agent was carrying a brightly-colored object and several parchment scrolls.

"Earth is a protected wildlife preserve," he declared smugly. "Yeah. We've been using it to rebuild the mosquito population which, need I remind you, is an endangered species!"

Well, _now_ the Grand Councilwoman remembered that planet. "Am I to assume you are the expert?"

"Oh, I don't know about 'expert'..." he chuckled, earning himself a "get on with it" glare from the UGF's leader. "Agent Pleakley at your service."

"Can we not simply destroy the surrounding area?" she suggested. Explosions were a great stress-reliever, and she had plenty of stress to relieve.

"No! Crazyhead? The mosquito's food of choice--primitive humanoid life forms--have colonies all over that planet." He put his eye up to the strange device and began manipulating it.

"Are they intelligent?"

"No, but they're very delicate. In fact, every time an asteroid strikes their planet, they have to begin life all over." The brightly-colored object he carried was then raised to his eye, and he began excitedly clicking the button on the top, yammering about the device's purpose.

The Grand Councilwoman sighed. She meant the _mosquito_ population, not the primitive humanoids. "What if our military forces just landed there?"

"Well, that'd be a bad idea!" he protested. "These are extremely simple creatures, Miss. Landing there would create mass mayhem and planet-wide panic!"

Resisting the urge to grind her teeth, she snapped back, "A quiet capture would require an understanding of Six-Two-Six that we do not possess! Who, then, Mr. Pleakley, would _you_ send for his extraction?"

"Does he have a brother?" Pleakley hedged nervously.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Yes, it's short, I know... but these aren't really "chapters" but just shifts of location and/or perspective. 


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

"I've got an idea."

Daniel groaned and dropped his pen, burying his face in his hands. It was the only alternative to slamming his head against the top of the table. "If it involves ten-pound line and a hook, I'm not interested."

"Ha! No. I have a buddy over in St. Paul who scored some extra tickets to _A Prairie Home Companion_ tonight. Whaddya say?"

"Wow, gee... an entire evening of the blues and gospel music... let me think..."

Jack shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Don't forget the News from Lake Wobegon."

Running away was looking terribly tempting. "Have we ever checked to see if Minnesotans were originally from Earth?"

The colonel rolled his eyes. "Why, 'cause Minnesota Nice just seems too foreign to ya? Well, that's too bad, kiddo, 'cause we can trace our roots back to Norway, Sweden, and Finland. Heck, that's probably why the Asgard like me so well."

"I thought 'O'Neill' was Irish."

"So I had Irish grandparents, so what?"

He sighed. "You've been planning this, haven't you? You didn't just 'happen' to be offered extra tickets, it was part of your reason for dragging me up here, wasn't it?"

"Hey, you study other cultures all the time, Danny, 'bout time you learned more about _mine_."

"If you can call it 'culture'."

"You have no call to get snippy with me... I'm just tryin-a do my job here."

This time, Daniel really _did_ thump his forehead against the tabletop. "If you quote any more lines from _Fargo_, I will shove you in a wood chipper myself. And didn't you tell Teal'c you hated that movie?"

Jack shrugged, unperturbed by the threat and deliberately ignoring the question. "Lutheran hospitality. Long goodbyes. Duck-duck-gray-duck. Ice-fishing--though we can't do that this time of year. Honeycrisps, hotdish, lutefisk, pickled salmon, Pronto Pups, cheese curds--"

He moaned. "Okay, okay, it's a _culture_. An incredibly weird and backward one, but a culture. Happy?"

"Ecstatic." He made a noise of exasperation. "Aw, c'mon Daniel, it'll be fun! I'll admit that I made a few... arrangements after your 'little' accident--"

Daniel glared. "Jack..."

"--But I _have_ been trying to get you to come fishing with me for years now."

"Really? 'Cause the one and only time you _asked _me to come, I'd just had my appendix taken out," he sniped.

"Well, as stubborn as you are, I figured I had to try to get ya to agree to come up here when you were doped up on medication and couldn't fight back... kinda how I went over your head to get Hammond to order you along this time." Jack grinned. "Not like it's much of a reach to go over your head _now_, of course."

The glower promising impending doom that he'd perfected on five years' worth of arrogant snakeheads had apparently decreased in effectiveness at the same time the rest of him had been down-sized. "Just because I'm small now, it doesn't mean I can't put up a fight."

"Oh, I don't doubt that at all, Danny," the colonel replied cheerfully.

"Stop calling me that. Just because I _look_ like a four year-old, doesn't mean I want to be _treated_ like a four year-old."

"Sorry. But I wasn't kidding about the buddy in St. Paul. Since we'll be going with him and his wife and their whole clan of screaming brats, you're going to have to remember--"

Daniel sighed. "That I'm the precocious four year-old son of one of your teammates who went missing-in-action last week. The teammate, that is, not the son... although said precocious four year-old would very _much_ like to go into hiding for a while."

"Funny. 'Fraid you're stuck with me, though... and if you behave, we might stop by a Dunn Brothers." When Daniel's brow crinkled in confusion, he added, "That's Minnesota's answer to Starbucks, by the way."

"You're going to let me have coffee?"

"Well, I don't think Doc would kill either one of us if it was something blended like one of those frappy things."

"_Frappé_," Daniel corrected automatically. He wasn't about to point out that most frappé-style beverages served commercially in the U.S. were not made with instant coffee but espresso, and therefore had more than twice the caffeine a simple cup of his prefered Arabica would have had.

Once plenty of chocolate was added to the mix...

"Okay, fine," he agreed, "but try not to treat me like a kid, okay?"

"Sure thing, Danny! Er, I mean 'Daniel'."


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Pleakley had never been in prison, _ever_. In fact, it wasn't a vacation spot that was high on his must-see list of galactic hot-spots. Moreover, he rated it somewhere between the frozen wastelands of Maytag IV and the super-hot atmosphere of Weber Prime, and only marginally higher than the black hole in the Dyson system.

For such a remarkably pristine-looking facility, the Galactic Federation Penitentiary was full of strange smells and even stranger noises. He tried not to look too closely at the facility's residents, as some of the convicts could quite literally kill with just a look. Pleakley was hardly about to tempt fate.

Up, up, up they went, the Grand Councilwoman seeming to know exactly where it was they were going without needing to stop and ask for directions. It was more than just a little disturbing that a woman of her position was so familiar with a maximum-security prison, but who was he to question?

They finally stopped in front of a cell containing a rather skinny Kweltekwan, who was entertaining himself by reading the _Fleemzoro Weekly Gazette_. Something in the newspaper must have upset him greatly--or looked really, _really_ tasty--as he suddenly tore up the publication and began stuffing the pieces into his mouth before realizing he had an audience.

Chuckling, the prisoner turned around, and Pleakley recognized him as the Idiot Scientist who had been the talk of the evening tabloid programs. "He got away?" he asked, flicking away a stray piece of newsprint.

"I'm sure this comes as no surprise to you," the Grand Councilwoman replied flatly.

"I designed this creature for to be unstoppable," replied Jumba Jookiba, the creator of the renegade experiment.

"Which is precisely why _you_ must now bring him back."

Jumba blinked. "What, me?"

"And to reward you," she continued, "we are willing to trade your freedom for his capture."

The scientist seemed to consider this only briefly, which was far longer than Pleakley thought was necessary to decide such a thing. "Six-Two-Six will not come easily... maybe a direct hit from plasma cannon might stun him long enough to--"

Plasma cannon? _Stun?_ What kind of creature was this thing which was so obviously on its way to ravage a defenseless wildlife preserve?

"Plasma cannon granted. Do we have a bargain, Doctor Jumba?"

Pleakley finally got his mouth in gear. "B-b-but it's a delicate planet!" He lowered his voice. "Who's going to control him?" Plasma cannon indeed!

"You will."

Oh, well that was a relief. "Very good, Your Highness, I..." Wait, _he _would? "I... didn't quite... Uh, you're not joking!"

The Grand Councilwoman was gone, though, leaving the agent alone with the convicted mad scientist. "So, tell me, my little one-eyed one," Jumba began, leaning toward Pleakley rather uncomfortably close, "On what poor, pitiful, _defenseless _planet has my monstrosity been unleashed?"

"Uh... it's, uh... it's uh..."

Jumba slapped him across the back. "I have never heard of Uhitsaitsa, but I am hoping for to not destroy more than half of it!"

It was then that Pleakley realized his career was finished.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Since I've been _such_ a slacker lately, today you get two! 


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

For a man who had supposedly spent the majority of his school-age years a citizen of Chicago, Illinois, Jack O'Neill reverted back to his Minnesota roots with frightening speed and skill. His vocabulary changed to include words which might have once been of Scandinavian origin, but had since been thoroughly mangled by the local accent. The accent, like some type of creeping aural fungus, had taken over his voice, too, giving his vowels different sounds entirely.

And if he heard one more 'yep' or 'yeah sure', Daniel was going to go crazy and take the whole dang Twin Cities with him! Oh, wait, too late... they'd all already lost their minds anyhow. How else had they all ended up in Minne-frickin'-sota?

The radio show, though he swore he'd never admit it aloud, had been pretty entertaining, occasionally even funny. The blues and gospel he'd feared had been interspersed with polka--though that was often cringe-worthy to even the most culturally-tolerant anthropologist--Irish folk songs, New Orleans jazz, and few good piano rags.

He wouldn't get started on the skits, since he'd disgraced himself several times by accidentally laughing out loud. Jack had caught him at it, too, and would probably never let him forget.

Now it was time for a late-night meal, and to Daniel's chagrin, they would be joining Jack's buddy Dave Jorgensson and his family of five. The kids had been angels all throughout the performance, but turned into the screaming brats Jack had warned about as soon as they reached the cars. Well, Jack's rented Cherokee, rather, and the Jorgensson's shudder-worthy minivan.

"So, where ya kids wanna go?" asked Mrs. Jorgensson.

Daniel had been eyeing a Thai restaurant on their way in to the Fitzgerald Theatre, and had just opened his mouth to say so when the hellions suddenly began clamoring for Carbone's. Not knowing what a "Carbone's" was and being intensly terrified at the thought of a restaurant that could inspire so much zealous glee in the three-to-ten crowd--he turned pleading eyes on Jack.

Jack, unfortunately, wasn't even looking his way. "I dunno, there, Dave. You forget I used'ta live in Chicago. Daniel did too fer a while."

"Aw, heck, Jack, the kiddos'll have a blast. You and Danny are welcome to come with, ya know. He's a quiet little feller, ya?"

The "quiet little feller" had a number of things he wanted to say about being included as one of the "kiddos", let alone being called Danny by a man who might as well be a complete stranger. Unfortunately, since he was _supposed _to be a four year-old, he had to bite his tongue. Heathens though they were, the Jorgensson kids shouldn't be exposed to such language at their ages.

The restaurant, it turned out, wasn't more than half a dozen blocks away, leaving Daniel to wonder why in the _world_ they'd driven instead of walking. Then he took a look at the place and wanted to run. On the way to the theatre, he and Jack had passed a Greek place, two steakhouses, and a Kurdish restaurant, and he even remembered reading something about a local street that was supposedly one of the best ethnic food dining districts in the United States. Why, then, where they pulling up to a pizza parlor?

"Jack..."

"What, Danny... I mean, Daniel?"

"The travel brochure I read in the airport said something about seventeen blocks of ethnic foods..."

"Oh, yeah, Eat Street. That's over in Minneapolis, though. This is St. Paul."

"Minneapolis is right over there!" he argued, pointing in what he hoped was a westerly direction.

"By the time we get over there, though, most of those places' kitchens will have closed. We'll try some of those another time, okay?"

Daniel crossed his arms. "And I bet the good coffee shops have, too."

"Crap," Jack muttered. "Jeez, I'm sorry, I didn't think about that. It's a bit late to be having caffeine now anyway, and--"

"Well, I guess I know where we're going for breakfast," he sighed, trying not to look too disappointed.

"Cross my heart," the colonel promised.

Maybe he hadn't lost his touch after all. But then again, why was he struggling to unbuckle the accursed booster seat if he didn't want to go into the pizza parlor? Why wasn't he trying to convince Jack to make his apologies to his friend and head for a real restaurant? Oh, that's right... he was supposed to be acting like a four year-old, and four year-olds were supposed to do what the grown-ups wanted them to do.

A quick glance at the Jorgenssons gave him pause. Then again, it _had_ been more than thirty years since he was last a four year-old, and from the way the twins were behaving, a lot had changed. Heck, even their three year-old sister seemed to have a considerable amount of authority over their parents. Daniel couldn't imagine having ever behaved like that to his own mother and father, as Mel Jackson most certainly would have paddled his backside.

This being a kid thing sucked.

Again.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
I grew up in a traditional family where we kids minded our parents and risked a spanking if we misbehaved. Now I stand in line at Wal-Mart and cringe as the kid in front of me throws a screaming fit because he wants that candy bar, so his mommy buys it to bribe him into silence for the precious few seconds it takes him to chew and swallow... 


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

The creature currently called Experiment Six-Two-Six emerged from hyperspace at speeds only a red police cruiser could manage, hurtling past planets and moons and asteroids on a direct course for the only inhabited planet in the system. Navigational computers were fantastic at plotting courses great distances across a galaxy, but not so hot for landing fast-moving spacecraft with any precision. The stolen cruiser began to make a _very_ uncontrolled descent, which only delighted Six-Two-Six.

Or Bob, or Fred, or whatever name he decided to choose for himself. Names weren't really important, though, when one's highest aspirations included the destruction of, well, pretty much _everything_. Hearing a name wasn't nearly as conducive to job satisfaction as screams of terror.

Down, down, _down_ the little red spaceship went, shrieking alarms accompanied by the gleeful cackling of the creature seated in the cockpit. He managed to crash-land on a piece of Minnesota that was actually dry land, though there were a few ponds nearby and trees, trees, and more trees. Unfortunately for his destructive instincts, the Twin Cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis were eighty miles to the southeast, and the nearest town was St. Anthony, population ninety-two.

With a brilliant flash of green light and a tremendous crunch of trees, soil, and crumpled cruiser fender, Experiment Six-Two-Six made his arrival on the hapless Planet Earth. Shoving his way free of the wreckage, the maniacally laughing being leaped onto the edge of the smoking crater and looked around him. As it was getting on to the wee morning hours, he didn't realize that the faint glow to the east was not _just_ the rising sun, but also the night lights of the nearest city.

That, of course, was a _very_ lucky thing for St. Cloud.

With no indicators as to where he should go, Six-Two-Six simply bounded off in the direction in which he was initially facing, crashing through the undergrowth until he emerged onto his first sign of civilization: a paved road. Not sure which way to go toward the nearest target--er, _town_, he took hesitant steps down the highway in first one direction, then the other. Decision-making was _not_ his strong suit, but reaction was. In fact, no sooner was there a soft _plop_ behind him than he had whipped a tiny plasma blaster out of his prison jumpsuit and fired at the source.

Nothing but pock-marked pavement remained of whatever it was. Suddenly, something _wet_--of all horrible things--landed on his head. He instantly drew yet another blaster from seemingly nowhere at all and squeezed a shot into the air. The sky then unleashed a retalitory strike in the form of a deluge of cold rain. Six-Two-Six's shoulders slumped in defeat. He _hated_ water, yet this planet was already determined to soak him in it.

It was also determined to assail him with strange noises. Whirling around, he prestidigitated a third blaster into existence, but held his fire this time. A green quadruped stared impassively at him, its throat expanding like a balloon as it breathed. Six-Two-Six had no idea what "_reet-eet!_" meant, but the much smaller creature would be wise to take him to its leaders, and quickly!

The native had nerves of steel, though, and seemed to be completely unmoved by the trio of deadly weapons aimed its direction, even when Six-Two-Six prodded him with the barrel of one. The four-armed fluffy blue monster didn't know whether to be impressed by this being's courage or astounded at its stupidity. Unfortunately, before he could make up his mind which, he was interrupted by yet _another _peculiar sound.

What _was_ it with this planet?

The frog was the only witness to the events which transpired next. Just as the space invader drew his fourth and final blaster to confront the new threat, the first of three dump trucks ran over him, flattening the hardy little creature to the pavement, kicking him up in the air, and squishing him beneath the next set of tires. To add insult to injury, the mud flaps on the back of the vehicle slapped him as they went by, and then the cycle repeated again with the next truck.

On the third truck, he went up in the air, but didn't come back down, wedged as he was between the tire and the fender when the driver screeched to a halt to avoid hitting the two suddenly stopped trucks in front of him. They were all curious to see what kind of boulder they must have hit to so thoroughly jostle them, climbing out of their cabs to take a look. Being employees of the state highway department, each hoped it _wouldn't _be something that would require their services to repair.

Driver Three shone a flashlight around the road before determining that the obstacle was not behind his truck. Driver Two wanted to know why Driver One hadn't seen the whatever-it-was while Driver One protested that he _thought_ he'd seen a small dog, maybe, but _surely_ no animal could have given all three trucks such a bump!

"Et's unner da fender, dere," Driver Three remarked, drawing the other men's attention to the rear tires of the third truck.

"Uff da!" exclaimed Driver Two as a furry paw fell free to dangle beneath the presumed roadkill. "Dat's ugly."

"Yeah," agreed Driver One, whose speech identified him as more Midwestern than Minnesotan. "Shouldn't we take him to the animal hospital or something?"

The highway workers grabbed a stick and scraped the limp creature into what Drivers Two and Three called a "baygh", but Driver One called a "sack". Driver One, having had the misfortune of running over the alien first, got the dubious honor of transporting it on the floorboard of his cab to the tiny animal shelter outside of St. Anthony.

Half an hour after it started, the gentle spring shower stopped and the air filled with nocturnal insects, most of them humming blood-suckers. The imperturbable frog feasted and forgot about the recent excitement.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
St. Anthony is a real town, though it didn't start out that way. I had made up my mind to create a fictional town by that name with a population of eighty-four about sixty or seventy miles to the west of the Twin Cities. Then, out of curiousity, I checked to see if there was a _real_ St. Anthony in Minnesota, and discovered there were _three_. One of them, though, was seventy-five to eighty miles northwest of the Twin Cities, with a 2000 Census population of ninety.  
Being psychic is freaky sometimes...  
The location and name of the town are real, but the contents of it are entirely from my imagination. 


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Morning came far too early, but years of hopping out of bed at oh-dark-thirty could not be denied for the sake of sleeping in, even on vacation. Groaning and scrubbing the palms of his hands over his face, he wondered what in the _world_ had persuaded him to stop by a gas station on the way back to the cabin and get a small cup of coffee for his silently sulking companion. Daniel had made faces at the poor quality of the brew, but gulped it down so quickly Jack wondered if he'd _inhaled _it.

One of these years, he'd learn that Janet Fraiser was _always_ right. One should not give a caffeinated beverage to a four year-old, especially not at twenty-three hundred. Although he'd been inwardly perturbed at the unusual amount of passive-aggressive behavior exhibited by the shrimp ever since his shrinking, the sudden java-enduced high was such a flash of freakish verbosity that he was bemoaning the loss of the kid's normal sullen snarkiness. It was even enough to tempt him to remove every trace of the sacred bean from the cabin, his house back in Colorado, and the entire SGC... at least until Daniel was eighteen. Again.

Sometime after one a.m., Daniel had managed to get out of his room and into Jack's, rattling on ninety miles-a-minute about flashing green lights, explosions, and alien invasions.

"...SoquickgetoutofbedwehavetocallHammondandgetbacktotheMountain!"

"Daniel," he began, slowly, deliberately, and rising from his bed to drag the hyperactive squirt back to his own room. He might even shove a chair under the doorknob so the rubber ball couldn't bounce back out again. "They're called the northern lights and if you really, _really_ want to know what they are, you can call Sam tomorrow and let her aurora bore-you-to-death with the details."

"ButJacktherewasaloudbanglikesomekindofexplosionandIthink--"

"_I _think you can say goodbye to having coffee again for about twenty years," he interrupted. "As for the loud 'bang', it was probably a hunter. There's lots of game in these woods."

"IknowJackbutIstill--"

"No 'buts' Daniel. We'll talk in the morning. Bed. Now!"

"Okay," the pint-sized pipsqueak grumbled, sliding beneath the sheets. Clichéd though it might have been, he was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow. Jack was left standing in the darkness, staring at the softly snoring child in complete bewilderment. Whatever artifical energy had been given to him by the bitter black drink had suddenly and completely evaporated.

The early morning light revealed a few vital flaws in his arguments of the previous night. One, the _aurora borealis_ were only just barely visible in the northern sky, and Daniel's bedroom window faced south. Two, the light show was usually over by March, so the last week in April was a bit late. Three, since it _was_ late April, no wild game was in season. Of course, that could mean that Jack simply had a neighbor who was a poacher and/or used heavier ammunition than was necessary to shoot varmints.

He wasn't about to accept alien invaders as a possible explanation for whatever Daniel's caffeine-induced hallucinations had conjured. They were in _Minnesota_, for cryin' out loud, and unless the Goa'uld wanted to steal the world's largest ball of twine, there wasn't much to mess with out here. Frankly, he thought the down-sized archaeologist just wanted an excuse to go back to Colorado, bury himself under a mountain of translations, sneak a few cups of coffee when he thought no one was looking, and try to weasel his way onto an offworld expedition. He didn't know--and Jack wasn't about to tell him--that part of the reason for their impromptu vacation had been to protect the miniaturized linguist from the clutches of slimy Colonel Simmons and the nefarious NID.

Just as Jack was trying to decide whether to bury his head under the pillow and pretend to sleep or get up for the day, his cell phone began to ring. Cursing, he leapt to his feet, tripped over the woven rug beside the bed, and banged his shin on the cedar chest. Somehow, amidst all the hopping and swearing, he managed to toss aside his discarded button-up shirt and dig into the pocket of his pants, emerging triumphantly with the persistently-ringing device.

"O'Neill!" he practically shouted into the receiver.

"_Good morning, Colonel_," came the voice of General Hammond.

"Oh, crap. Er, I mean, good morning, sir. What's up?"

"_How are you and Doctor Jackson settling in, Jack?_"

"We're managing... barely. Rather than complaining, Daniel's doing the whole passive-aggressive thing. We're so far off on the wrong foot, it might as well be the wrong _mile_. I took him to a radio show last night, which he liked, but then my buddy's kids picked a pizza parlor for a late-night supper."

"_Bad choice?_"

"Oh yeah. Carbone's pizza is a comfort food, sir. Thin, crispy crust and dripping with grease. Danny and I both spent too many years in Chicago to like anything but deep dish." He sighed. "He didn't complain at all, sir. Just sat there and stared at his plate until we got some more breadsticks. Dave's kids made so much noise all by themselves that I almost didn't notice."

"_I don't have to tell you that Doctor Fraiser is deeply concerned_," Hammond reminded him. "_Before the accident--_"

"Yeah, I know," Jack interrupted, rubbing at his left eye with his knuckle. "She was threatening to ground him a little over a week ago. I had to swear I'd keep _both _eyes on him so she'd keep him on active duty. Look where _that_ got us." He made a noise of exasperation. "I'm sorry; I'm doing the best I can, but it's difficult to do anything right for him when he won't _talk_ to me. I mean, he's doing the normal sarcastic self-defense thing _I_ accidentally taught him, but that's it. I know he doesn't like Minnesota, but he's just going to have to tough it out for a while. I won't take him back to Colorado until--"

"_That's actually why I called, son. Simmons and his lackeys are still making a lot of noise, but some of the usual suspects have gotten awfully quiet. Now it could be that they've backed off to pursue the possibility of gaining custody of Jonas Quinn--_"

"Excuse me?"

"_I was getting to that, Colonel. Jonas Quinn defected to Earth yesterday evening, bringing as much of the mineral with him as he could. Major Carter has her team working on the samples and Doctor Fraiser is running every possible test she can think of to determine if Mister Quinn had any exposure to the same effects as Doctor Jackson._"

"Probably not," Jack guessed.

"_It doesn't seem likely, no. Still, Mister Quinn has asked to be able to help Major Carter with her tests, and I'm inclined to let him_."

"I don't trust him, sir."

"_Like it or not, Jack, he's the only chance we have of finding out what went wrong in that lab, and possibly of reversing what's happened to Doctor Jackson._"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess we can put up with him for a little while... at least until we don't need him anymore or can foist him off on somebody else."

"_He's a political refugee, Jack. He's requested amnesty and we've granted it. It's up to him whether he makes an effort to fit in on Earth or with one of our offworld allies._"

"I'd prefer the latter." He frowned, glancing toward the bedroom door. Had he heard something in the hall? "But it's your call, sir." Cautiously peering into the empty living room, he shrugged to himself. Maybe his problem, unlike Daniel's, was _lack_ of caffeine.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Now comes the "misunderstandings" part of the summary... 


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Daniel huddled beneath the covers, sheet pulled over his head. What was that quaint expression of which Foster Mother Number Five had been so fond? Ah, yes: "little pitchers have big ears." Of course, she was generally referring to Foster Father Number Five's tendency to swear like a sailor, but it was an apt metaphor. He hadn't _meant_ to overhear Jack talking to General Hammond, though, but listen he had and it wasn't pretty.

"I know he doesn't like Minnesota, but he's just going to have to tough it out for a while," Jack had said, which wasn't terribly surprising since they were now on only day three of their two-week vacation. The next things Jack had said, though, really hurt: "I don't trust him, sir" and "I guess we can put up with him for a little while."

Most chilling of all, though, were the words which had made Daniel flee back to his room. "...At least until we don't need him anymore or can foist him off on somebody else... I'd prefer the latter."

He wrapped thin arms around himself, hugging tightly. Things between himself and Jack had gotten worse and worse over the years since Sha're died, but he'd never realized how badly until the incident with Reece. Daniel had wanted to believe in the young robot, having been not-so-very dissimilar from her as a child--the first time. Well, not the whole creating machines of mass destruction thing, but the too smart for his age, emotionally insecure, and woefully misunderstood parts, definitely.

The squeaky floorboard just outside his bedroom protested, and Daniel quickly shut his eyes and stilled, hoping Jack would think he was fast asleep. He wasn't quite up to facing what he now realized was a façade of tolerance the older man wore toward him. It had been one thing when he was big and could carry a gun and fight, but a single freak accident had turned him into a burden too small to take care of himself. Now, Jack couldn't wait to "foist him off" on somebody else.

Maybe that's why they'd come to Minnesota. Jack was slowly introducing him to the Jorgenssons so that when their two weeks' leave was up, he'd go back to Colorado and Daniel would be left behind, just a "quiet little feller" in a crowd of noisy, rambunctious kids. It would be like foster care all over again, and he didn't have the possibility of getting himself declared an emancipated minor for _at least_ another ten to twelve years, which meant...

There was another creak of the floorboard, then the soft swish and click of the door being pulled shut. Daniel let out a shaky breath and uncurled enough to grab his pillow and hug it to his chest. The worst part was, he didn't know what Jack wanted him to do. He could still translate things, so it wasn't as though he was _completely_ useless in this smaller form.

Foster Mother Number Five had another favorite saying--"a stitch in time saves nine"--but he didn't know if any attempted repairs he might make now would be enough to keep him from being given over to the Jorgenssons. He'd already proven how badly he could screw things up at this size with his ill-fated adventure with caffeine last night. Alien invasions and explosions?

He wanted to rail and scream and fight against his forced removal from the SGC, but it seemed pretty pointless now. If everyone had known what was going on except him, then that explained why Sam and Teal'c had seemed a little more "touchy-feely" than normal when telling him goodbye. He had initially dismissed it as their being confused about how to deal with his younger self, but now he knew differently. With even General Hammond against his continued presence at the SGC, what hope did he have of being allowed to stay?

Burying his face in the pillow, he let out a tired sigh. Within minutes, he was asleep again.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Whoops. Don't you just love how an innocent conversation can be taken completely out of context when you hear only one side of it? 


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

Jack pulled the bedroom door shut then rested his forehead against the doorframe. He wasn't at all surprised that Daniel was still asleep, especially given his rather spectacular crash from his caffeinated high in the wee hours of the morning. Still, it kind of put a damper on his plans to take them into St. Anthony for breakfast. The town itself consisted of little more than a gas station-slash-convenience store and a diner. Mable made the best flapjacks in the Midwest, so he hoped a pile of the sweet, fluffy cakes would help to get his friend out of the funk in which he was currently existing.

He decided to give the tuckered-out kid a few more hours' rest while he puttered around the cabin, doing minor chores. There had been some debris in the yard yesterday which was probably leftover from early spring storms, a few loose nails on the dock that needed to be hammered back in, and his old rowboat to haul out of the shed and inspect for leaks. If Daniel still wasn't awake by nine, he'd wake him up so they could go to town.

As soon as he stepped outside he realized it had rained the night before, which put the final nail on the coffin of Daniel's alien invasion theory. The flash had been lightning and the loud bang thunder, of course. It was curious that the storm hadn't awakened Jack, but then again he _had_ been tired, or maybe all the excess caffeine had heightened the kid's senses like the guy in that buddy-cop show Daniel and Carter liked so well... "Centennial" or whatever the name was.

After the boat successfully held a stack of bricks plus his own weight without taking on any water, Jack glanced at his watch and was surprised to see it was already a quarter after nine. Climbing onto the dock and tying the boat off, he crept inside the cabin and quietly opened Daniel's bedroom door.

The still-sleeping waif had kicked off his covers at some point but had his whole body curled around one of the pillows as though hanging onto it for dear life. One hand was tucked up under his chin and with all the little frown lines that children his physical age _weren't _supposed to have smoothed out by slumber, he looked positively angelic. Jack was momentarily taken aback, as he'd spent the last few days trying his utmost to see his grown friend and not a child. Fast asleep and surrounded by a few of Charlie's old belongings Jack had never managed to get rid of, he was forced to view Daniel in a completely different light.

What if he'd been going about it all wrong? He'd been trying to treat Daniel almost exactly as he'd treated the grown version, but what if that wasn't what he needed? Maybe this young new body had young new emotions and the same craving for hugs and positive reinforcement that he'd sorely needed when they first met, before their relationship dissolved. If Jack were honest with himself, part of what had gone wrong with their friendship had been Daniel's sudden declaration of personal independence and subsequent deliberate withdrawal from Jack's paternal instincts. Jack hadn't helped matters any by pulling away himself.

There was really only one way to prove his theory, and he didn't need to know any of Carter's sworn-by scientific method to test this particular hypothesis. In fact, he'd much rather give it the patented Daniel Jackson approach: feet first, full speed ahead, and never look before you leap.

Settling carefully down on the edge of the bed, Jack carded his fingers through the soft blond hair that would eventually darken to brown, smiling to himself as he allowed himself to actually _touch_ Daniel for what felt like the first time in years. The boy stirred under his touch, but didn't awaken. For step two, Jack cupped the back of the small head and leaned in, gently calling his name.

Startled blue eyes flew open, darting around in panic before settling on Jack. His fingers curled into fists on the pillow, clutching the fabric tightly as his gaze slid to one side, staring past the colonel's shoulder. "Hi, Jack."

"Hijack what?" he joked, unable to help himself. "A car? A train? A boat?"

A peculiar thing happened then: Daniel actually _giggled_. As soon as the noise escaped him, though, his face took on a brief expression of mortification before slipping into what Jack now realized was a careful mask that just _screamed_ the dreaded "fine".

He cleared his throat. "Anywho... want to go get breakfast?"

Daniel picked at the pillowcase. "Um, I think we should've listened to Janet. No more coffee for me for a while."

"Now _that_ I'll agree to, but it doesn't mean we can't still have pancakes. The diner in St. Anthony makes the best you'll find in the state. Mable even ships in syrup from Vermont every spring. Whaddya say?"

"Okay."

"Attaboy," Jack grinned, ruffling Daniel's hair affectionately. Maybe the two of them could find the right balance after all.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Heehee! You know it's bad when even _Daniel _admits he should probably lay off the coffee. I'm reminded of one of my favorite quotes from _Star Trek: Voyager_, when a frustrated Captain Janeway waves off a fresh pot and says, "No thanks, Mr. Neelix. One more cup of coffee and _I'll_ jump to warp!" 


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

Daniel was confused. Jack had turned tactile overnight.

He'd been awakened with a hand curled at the nape of his neck, had his hair ruffled playfully, and not had to climb up into the booster seat in the back of the Jeep on his own, but was _lifted_ there before he could protest. All by Jack. The same Jack who had only this morning told General Hammond that he couldn't wait to foist Daniel off on someone else.

Or had he? Maybe that had been another delusion conjured up by his over-active imagination. But no, he'd definitely been awake then because he'd snagged one of his socks on the wooden floor during his mad dash through the living room away from Jack's door. He'd seen the snag when he picked the discarded socks off the floor while getting dressed.

Apparently, he was once again dealing with Black Jack, the veteran of Special Forces. The man who could drink beer and smile to your face while stabbing you through the heart. The man who was seemingly on assignment to introduce Daniel to a new "foster family" before abandoning him in Minnesota while he returned to Colorado and the SGC.

Of course, that didn't make as much sense in the light of day as it had seemed to earlier this morning. Why would he be left with a family that had absolutely no connection to the SGC? It had been proven, despite his smaller stature, that all his memories and skills were intact, so why not keep him on at the Mountain? General Bauer would finally get his wish, as Daniel would have no choice but to--as Jack would say--fly a desk.

The "foist him off on someone else" part was still worrisome, as was the part about Jack not trusting him. It was a foregone conclusion that Daniel would no longer be able to live by himself as long as he was this short, and at first he'd thought Jack would let him live with him as he had when he first came back from Abydos. But if Jack couldn't wait to "foist him off", then--

"Wow, that's some heavy thinkin'. Don't you know all that frowning'll give you wrinkles?"

Daniel blinked and looked up to see Jack eyeing him in the rear-view mirror. "What?"

"You were thinking too hard," Jack replied. "I was worried you were going to short-circuit a few brain cells. What was that all about, anyway?"

The archaeologist wasn't so sure he hadn't _already_ fried some helpless neurons. "Nothing," he answered too quickly, then decided to change the subject. "I thought you said St. Anthony had fewer than a hundred people."

"It does, but one of the residents just happens to own and cook for a great diner, and her daughters wait the tables. There's even a gas station convenience store that employs five more of the residents. Pretty much everyone else works in or near St. Cloud." He paused. "That _can't_ have been what all that heavy-duty concentrating was about, though."

Daniel sighed. "It's nothing, Jack."

"When you say 'nothing', you mean 'something'. What's eatin' ya? You can tell me, Danny, I'm your friend."

"You are?" he blurted before he could stop himself, slapping his hands over his mouth in horror.

Jack's eyes widened. Seconds later, they were pulled off into the strip of gravel that was the diner's parking lot. Jack shut off the engine, then turned around in his seat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Daniel denied, lowering his hands to his lap and finding the hem of his polo shirt suddenly _very_ fascinating. "I didn't mean to say that." The sewing machine was a marvelous invention, wasn't it?

"Say what you mean and mean what you say," Jack replied. "In this case, I'd say you did both. Look at me, Danny."

He couldn't do that. If he looked at Jack, Daniel would probably cry and make a tee-total fool of himself. This little body did stuff like that, he knew, having inadvertently given into a few tears after he'd woken up small in the infirmary. It was no _wonder_ the colonel said he couldn't trust him, because he couldn't even count on _himself _to not do something as completely stupid as starting to sob like the baby he now looked like.

Jack unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the car door, then was suddenly leaning through the back door toward him. "Look, kiddo--Daniel--I know I haven't been the best friend to you for the last several months, but everything's going to be different now. That's a promise, buddy. Everything will be different from now on, okay?"

It _wasn't_ okay. Everything was going to be so much different because Jack was going to be leaving him here with the Jorgenssons or otherwise "foisting him off" and _nothing_ would ever be the same again! Even this stupid little boy body he'd been stuck with wouldn't be the same ever again--well maybe in twenty or thirty years it would be--but right now, it didn't work right. In fact, it was letting the traitorous moisture he told not to fall seep out of his eyes anyway.

To his complete surprise, Jack slid into the back seat and wrapped his arms around Daniel's shoulders. Nearly thirty years with minimal physical affection meant that being enfolded in a hug now was too much for him to bear. Being hugged by the one man whose approval and friendship he craved like a drowning person needed air was more than he could handle, especially when said man had already expressed his desire to be rid of him as quickly as possible.

Burying his face in the shirt in front of him, Daniel felt his shoulders shake as he gave in to his confusion and fear. Why was Jack being so _nice_ to him?


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

Unable to think of anything else to do or say, Jack just held the silently crying boy against his chest and rocked. The angle was a bit awkward since Daniel was still buckled into his booster seat, but that wasn't really all that important right now. Clearly, there was an awful lot going on inside the little archaeologist's head, which wasn't really surprising considering he'd always had an awful lot going on inside his head when he _wasn't_ so little. Big Daniel could cope with all the crap life handed him, though, or at least put up a reasonable façade that he could. Little Daniel, for whatever reason, couldn't.

"I'm sorry," the kid mumbled, straightening up in his seat and swiping at his streaked face. "I didn't mean to... I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Jack soothed, looking down at his--oh, lovely--damp shirt. Since it was tear- and snot-soaked already, why not? Opening the top button, he pulled the soft cotton over his head and used the dry back to finish wiping Daniel's face, though the down-sized linguist tried to twist away from his ministrations. Finally, he balled the shirt up and pitched it into the front passenger seat. "Feel better?"

"N-no," Daniel admitted, wrapping his arms around himself and staring down at his toes. "This sucks."

"What does?"

"Being a kid again. Everything's... everything's so much bigger."

"Well, yeah," Jack grinned.

Daniel scrunched up his face. "Not like that, Jack, I mean that things that used to didn't bother me--"

"Bother you a lot more? I guess that makes sense... The smaller you get, the smaller your ability to handle things gets. But that's okay, Danny, 'cause you don't _have_ to do everything yourself. You didn't have to as a grown-up either, but you seem to think you did."

He swiped at his eyes, looking up at Jack suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

The colonel sighed. "Several times when you thought you had to shoulder the weight of the world all by yourself? You could've asked the rest of the team for help, ya know."

"But, what if--"

"Yes, I know there were times you had to act all on your own because we weren't there, but you didn't have to try going all Teal'c-stoic on us afterward. I swear, he's a bad influence on you."

"No, he isn't."

"Oh, yes he is."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Jack, you're just a big kid, aren't you?"

"You betcha!" he agreed, giving the squirt another squeeze. "Now, there's a pile of pancakes in there waiting for you, and a bigger one for me. Then we're going to figure out what we're going to do with ourselves the rest of the day."

"Okay," the pint-sized archaeologist agreed, heaving a martyred sigh. He began to fumble with the buckle of his booster seat, but Jack batted his hands out of the way, his longer and stronger fingers opening the latch on the seatbelt quicker and more easily than the tiny little digits that could barely hold a ballpoint pen. Before Daniel could attempt to assert any more independence, he was scooped out of the seat and settled on his feet in the gravel. He opened his mouth as though to protest, then shook his head.

The dining room of Mable's consisted of a six-stool bar and four booths. Not willing to risk a dizzy linguist falling off a stool that was as tall as he was, Jack nodded to the lady behind the counter and slid into a free booth. The diner didn't bother with kitschy uniforms or bold nameplates, but Jack recognized their waitress as Madison, the youngest of Mable's brood of five.

"Oh, for cute!" she exclaimed, strolling over to their table and eyeing Daniel up and down. He couldn't remember if she'd hit forty yet or not, but the continued absence of a ring on her finger made him glad he'd never brought Daniel here as a grown-up. "Colonel Jack, is this'n yours?"

"Whenever he lets me," Jack grinned, thinking of how stubborn his friend could be at _any_ size. "This is Daniel. Daniel, meet Madison Miller, daughter of the chef."

"Hello," the boy offered quietly.

"He's as precious as they come, Colonel Jack. You wanna take your usual?"

"You bet," he grinned. "Coffee for me, juice for Daniel. Oh, and make it a short stack for the short stuff."

She snapped her gum. "You bet."

"No menus?" Daniel asked once Madison had made her way back behind the counter.

"Don't need 'em," Jack answered. "You eat whatever Mable's cooking or you don't eat here at all."

He pondered this for a moment. "So it's always pancakes on a Sunday morning?"

"Other stuff too, but if I'd been a little slower dragging you out of bed, they'd already have closed up long enough to go to Mass, then come back to open for lunch."

"What's the deal with Madison?"

Trust Daniel to be too smart even as a shrimp. "She and I practically grew up together. Well, not quite, but whenever my dad used to bring me out to the cabin. Of course, Madeline and Margaret were closer to my age than she was, but that never seemed to stop her."

"Madeline, Margaret, and Madison Miller?"

"Mary and Martha, too," Jack added. "Mable and Marcus had a theme."

"Ya think?" Daniel mumbled.

"Oooh, score one for the linguist! Keep it up and we'll have you sounding like a native." At the unexpected look of horror on the young face, he began to chuckle. "Okay, you don't _have_ to! Just thought you might like to do the anthropology thing, that's all."

Any intended reply was forestalled by the sudden arrival of their plate-sized pancakes. Jack's plate was piled four-high and dripping with butter and drenched in genuine Vermont Grade A Light maple syrup. Daniel's, being the short stack, was only two pancakes, but was probably far more than the little guy could put away if yesterday's picked-at meals were any indicator.

Give another ten years and the picky, minimalistic eating would be a thing of the past. Jack grinned to himself just imagining a gangly teenage Daniel wolfing down anything and everything edible and still poking around for scraps.

That assumed, of course, that this was a permanent issue, and that the only way Daniel would reach adult size again was to grow up the normal way. Carter, Fraiser, and the SGC's best scientists were all completely stumped, and no one had heard from the Asgard. He wasn't sure why, but Jack had a strong feeling that there was nothing that could be done, anyway.

To that end, he'd asked General Hammond to start getting the necessary identification fabricated to suit Daniel's new age. As long as the rogue NID elements left them alone, Jack didn't see any reason why his young friend couldn't live with him until he was once again old enough to take care of himself.

There was one final concern: interaction. Sure, Daniel would probably be content to just bury himself in his office on-base and only reluctantly emerge when he'd been sufficiently harrassed into sleeping, eating, or getting some physical activity. No matter how grown-up the kid's brain was, though, Jack had already observed several signs that he also had many child-like qualities. If the Jorgensson kids were any indication, Daniel would not enjoy spending time with children his own physical age. Adults would do in a pinch, but what Daniel really needed was a companion closer to his own size.

Fortunately, Jack had a solution in mind.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
...A dog! In case, you hadn't already guessed, that is. 


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

Daniel sighed and shifted in his seat. Jack was doing the staring thing again, frozen with a fork-speared piece of pancake inches away from his open mouth. The pancakes _were_ pretty good, Daniel agreed inwardly, but he didn't have much of an appetite for them.

They were too reminescent of waffles.

He supposed it wasn't Jack's fault that he'd chosen such similar circumstances to give him the bad news, since he'd certainly never told the colonel about the day of his parents' funeral. On that too-sunny morning, Nick Ballard had plied him with waffles at a short-order diner, then proceeded to explain precisely why he couldn't possibly raise his eight year-old orphaned grandson. The doughy-food had stuck in Daniel's throat, leaving him unable to eat any further, so Nick had assumed he was finished, paid the bill, then drove him to a low, gray building and left the rest of his upbringing to Social Services.

Now the pancakes were sticking in his throat, too.

"You need a dog," Jack declared suddenly.

He nearly jumped in surprise. "What?"

"A dog, Danny. You gotta have somebody to keep you company, ya know. Besides, I live by the 'every kid must have a dog' rule; just ask Cassie."

"Cassie didn't know any better," Daniel pointed out before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, but she liked that dog!"

"Until he got run over by a truck."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I don't think there's such a thing as a truck-proof dog, Daniel. Now, there's an animal shelter another mile or so down the road, so we can even pick up a pooch today!"

Daniel bit his lip. Jack seemed to be terribly enamored of the idea of him getting a dog. "I'd rather have a cat," he ventured, curious to see to whose benefit getting a dog was intended.

"You can't play with a cat!"

"Sure you can," he replied. "Pieces of string, mousie toys, paper bags--"

"That's not what I meant," Jack grumped good-naturedly. "Okay, how 'bout this? Ever hear of a guard _cat_?" Reluctantly, Daniel shook his head. "Well, there you go! You can teach Fido how to sit and roll over and whatever, and I'll teach him how to chase off door-to-door salesmen, cats, and N..."

"'N'?"

Jack drained the last of his coffee. "And anybody else you don't want hanging around ya."

"But I _like _cats."

"Daniel!"

He was unable to quell his grin of triumph. "But what if I don't find a dog I like?"

"Then I'll help you pick one out. And if you try to pick out some sissy little dog, I'll pick a real one out for you anyway."

Was the dog for his benefit or Jack's? Maybe--just maybe--getting a dog was a sort of olive branch. Maybe Hammond had ordered Jack to try to find a way to keep him occupied and guarded so Jack wouldn't _have_ to foist him off on anyone else. Maybe somebody higher up had seen the wisdom in keeping him around to translate things despite his smaller stature, and had demanded the colonel's full cooperation.

That was an _awful_ lot of maybes.

"You're thinking too hard again," Jack chided him, pulling a few bills out of his wallet and dropping them on the table. "Haven't I warned you about that?"


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

Experiment Six-Two-Six groaned as he sat up, shaking his head to try to clear it and rubbing at his eyes. He was an extremely hardy creature, but even he needed some time to rest after being run over by three very heavy ground transports. As he took in his new surroundings, he discovered he had been imprisoned again.

The green quadrupeds who ruled this planet were sadly mistaken if they thought stone walls and a puny wire fence could hold _him!_ Grinning wickedly, he reached into his jumpsuit to pull out his blasters and rid himself of the obstruction immediately. When his hands came up without his trusty weapons, he looked down in astonishment to see that his jumpsuit was gone, and with it, his blasters.

_That_ wasn't good.

Across the corridor, he could see the cell of another prisoner, a dark brown quadruped only slightly larger than he was. Unlike the green being he'd encountered before, this one, at least, had the sense to be afraid of him. It was cowering in the far corner of its cell, whimpering.

That was more like it!

He looked up and saw that the enclosure did not connect directly with the ceiling above it, leaving a gap that was sufficiently-sized for him to climb up to and through, claws digging into the wooden ceiling for support. He walked down the prison corridor upside-down, sneering at the inmates as they shivered and shook in response to his presence.

_This_ was how creatures should behave toward him! The complete lack of respect he'd been shown by the being he encountered in the forest had been terribly insulting, but these displays of fear were almost gratifying. When he reached the end of the hall and was preparing to crawl down a wall through an open doorway, he glanced back at a wall full of smaller cells, several of which contained prisoners, too. These insouciant creatures, however, merely blinked their large yellow or green eyes and resumed grooming themselves or napping.

Ignoring the slight, Six-Two-Six crossed into the next room, moving quickly and quietly so he wouldn't be seen or heard. He paused briefly when he heard voices, and looked down to see three pink bipeds conversing.

Perhaps the green creature in the forest hadn't been the highest form of life on this planet after all! Bipeds and tripeds were so much more common out in the galaxy anyway, if only because they so often had limbs which were used for things other than locomotion. These creatures also seemed to be wearing garments, too.

They were of three different sizes and the shortest of them wasn't much taller than Six-Two-Six. The being immediately beside him was nearly twice his height, with the third figure somewhere in between the others in size. They were inconsequential, however, as Six-Two-Six's goals were to locate a suitable spacecraft to escape the planet and wreak destruction on suitable metropolitan areas... though not necessarily in that order.

Crawling down the wall, he opened the front door of the prison building and escaped onto the wooden landing just outside, pausing for a moment to attempt to gain his bearings. He hadn't the first clue where he was, of course, but he hoped to maybe catch some hint as to where he should go to accomplish either of his goals.

He had only a fraction of a second's warning--a tiny red dot on his torso--before a bolt of energy was headed his way. He leapt out of the line of fire, dodging onto a signpost and a tree before ducking behind a pile of rock. In the distance, he heard a very familiar, classicly-trained Evil Genius Laugh.

"So nice to see your pretty face again!"

Six-Two-Six felt his ears perk up. "Jumba?" Could it possibly be his creator?

"Come out quietly so I can shoot you."

Wasn't the appropriate cliché "or I will shoot you"? It sounded like Jumba desperately needed to review some of his old class notes. "Nuh-uh," he answered, looking around for better cover than a pile of rocks.

There were trees, trees, and more trees, but there was nothing he'd consider to be suitable protection for any length of time. In fact, the only shelter of any type was the building from which he'd just escaped. Growling to himself, he re-traced his route, zipping back inside the door and crawling across the ceiling.

This could be a problem. For Jumba to be trying to shoot him, that meant that the meanies in charge of the Galactic Federation had convinced him it was in his best interests to rein in his own creation. Six-Two-Six didn't believe for a moment that Jumba had any desire to destroy his greatest invention, which meant that all _he_ needed to do was supply the scientist with a sufficient reason to _not_ shoot him.

Dropping to the ground, he began to pace back and forth, thinking furiously. Since Jumba hadn't yet annihilated the very building in which Six-Two-Six hid, then he must have been under strict orders from the Galactic Federation to _not_ harm the local lifeforms. Somehow, he'd have to convince one of the natives to "protect" him from his assailants.

A two-dimensional image on the wall caught the fluffy blue monster's eye. It showed one of the furry qadrupeds enthusiastically embracing a pink biped. Perhaps, instead of a prison, this was some sort of meeting place?

"Are you sure I can't adopt a cat?" asked a young voice.

Thinking quickly, Six-Two-Six retracted his lower set of arms, the spines on his back, and the antennae on his head. Now, he guessed, he looked reasonably like the typical residents of this adoption center. All he needed to do now was convince the native that _he_ should be the quadruped it took home with it.


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15

Daniel frowned in confusion, wondering why all the dogs seemed determined to cower in the shadows and corners of their enclosures. _Surely_ they weren't afraid of a four year-old kid, were they? It concerned him that maybe the shelter wasn't very nice to the animals, but the cats near the entrance hadn't seemed disturbed at all.

He heard a scuffling noise and turned around to see a very strange-looking creature sitting on the floor of the aisle. None of the kennel doors were open, so he had no idea how it had gotten out, but the furry blue creature seemed happy to blink its eyes, pant, and wag its stubby tail.

"Hi," he offered, taken aback by the animal. It looked more like a _koala_ than a dog, but--

"H... hi," the creature answered, holding out its front paw--no, _hand_--in an echo of his own greeting. As Daniel stood with his jaw dropped, the being shuffled forward and enveloped him in a hug, eliciting a squeak of surprise.

"You're not a dog, are you?" he managed after the thing let him go. It nodded its head and pointed to the poster on the wall. "Adopt Today" proclaimed the sign, depicting a smiling canine embracing a curly-haired little girl. Puzzled, he scratched his head and stared at the would-be dog, trying to figure out why an intelligent creature such as it was trying to pass itself off as a pet.

"You're not from around here, either," he realized. Jack was going to _kill_ him. Only he could find an alien in Minnesota! "So... what do you want from me?" The alien pointed to the poster again, muttering something in a language Daniel didn't recognize. "Ooo-kay," he drew out, ignoring for a moment that it made him sound like Jack. "If I'm going to adopt you as my dog, you're going to have to _act_ like a dog... at least when other people are around, anyway."

"Oh-kay," it agreed hesitantly.

"No, no talking. No nodding your head either. If you looked more like a cat, you could get away with ignoring me out-right, but since you're supposed to be a dog... I dunno, maybe you could do the Jack O'Neill thing and just give me a look like you're listening but haven't a clue what I'm saying." The creature cocked its head, giving him a decidedly puzzled look. "That's perfect," he grinned.

Daniel began to pace back and forth across the aisle, wondering what he was getting himself into by agreeing to help this creature. He didn't for a minute believe the blue alien wanted to be adopted as a new puppy just because it liked to play the part of a slobbering, drooling housepet. No, he decided, it was either lost and wanted a stable shelter in which to begin finding itself again, or it was running from something and needed somewhere safe to hide.

"Okay," he began. "I'll help you, but we can't let anyone know you're not just some kind of really weird dog. There are some people on this planet who would love to get their hands on a real, live alien, but I don't think you'd stay 'live' for long if they did. It's okay to talk and behave like you normally would whenever we're alone, but if you need to get my attention when other people are around, you have to bark. Do you know how to bark?"

The creature laid its ears back, bared its teeth, and let out a short growl that _almost_ sounded like a genuine bark. "Close enough," Daniel sighed. "Okay, let's go before Jack wonders what's happened to me." He received another puzzled look, which it took him only a moment to interpret. "Oh, Jack! He's, uh..." What _was_ Jack? "He's a... a friend, somebody who's looking after me until the people in charge can find out what to do with me. He's a dog person, so he'll probably try to teach you tricks and how to fetch and such like that." Smiling, he motioned for the alien to follow him back to the front of the shelter.

"Yep, all the dogs are adoptable," agreed Madeline Lewiston, one of Mable's daughters, sitting and talking to Jack like the childhood friend she probably was. Both adults turned to look as Daniel and the alien--dog--came around the corner, the woman's eyes widening with fear. "Except _that_ one!" she screeched.

Jack sprang from the chair next to the window, scooping Daniel up into the air and jumping away from the blue creature. He gave it a look of mixed revulsion and curiosity. "What _is _that thing?"

"A dog... I think!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around its torso and holding it back from Daniel. "But it was dead this morning!"

"It was _dead_ this morning?" Jack echoed.

"Well, we _thought_ it was dead... it was hit by a truck!"

"Truck-proof dog!" Daniel grinned, squirming out Jack's grasp and landing on the floor with a thump. "C'mere!"

Needing no further encouragement, the creature crawled across the floor on all-fours, dragging Madeline with him. Jack put out a booted foot to stop it from getting any closer, once again lifting Daniel into the air and setting him on his feet in the chair behind him. "Daniel..."

"Jack," he replied in kind, crossing his arms. This kind of battle, he knew how to win, having fought similar ones in the past. _Yes, Jack, we need to bring this artifact back with us. Yes, Jack, we should help these people solve this historical mystery. Yes, Jack, we should free the Unas from enslavement._

"Daniel."

He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and armed himself with the last weapon in his arsenal. "Please?"

Jack froze, closed his eyes, and scrubbed his hand over the back of his head with a sigh. "Start the paperwork."

"Seriously?" Madeline exclaimed.

"Yeah. Danny wants him, for whatever reason, so a mutant dog it is." He bent over slightly so that his eyes were on the same level as Daniel's. "Are you sure?"

Daniel let his gaze flick down to his new "pet". Maybe this wasn't what Jack had in mind, but he couldn't, in good conscience, let the creature remain in the animal shelter when he could possibly help it. "I'm sure," he answered.

Jack bumped his chin, turning him to meet his gaze. Daniel wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he must have found it, as he nodded. "Okay," he agreed, though there was a "but remember that this was _your_ idea" left hanging.

"You'll have to think of a name for him," Madeline announced.

"His name is... Stitch," Daniel decided. He only hoped he was in time to save what was left of his friendship with Jack.


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16

"You're all mine," Jumba grinned to himself, staring at the thermal image of his wayward experiment.

"Well, what's he doing?" asked Agent Pleakley, the D.U.M.B. agent with whom he'd been saddled for the creature's retrieval.

"Shh!" he warned. "Keep quiet. He's listening for us."

"How good is his hearing?" Pleakley whispered, and Six-Two-Six's ears came up as he turned to look in their direction. "I mean, can he..."

Having had enough of the squeaky voice which was somehow even more annoying when reduced to a whisper, Jumba closed his fist around the scrawny being's neck, silencing him. Just then, the door to the building below opened again, and Six-Two-Six walked out onto the porch. Letting Pleakley go, the Evil Genius powered up his blaster, allowing the laser sight to play over the experiment's torso. "Why don't you run?" he pondered, perplexed by its sudden passive behavior.

Six-Two-Six bounced up and down in place, making short growling sounds that didn't seem to be an effective means of communication. They seemed to mean something, though, as a young voice called out, "All right, I'm coming!" Just as Jumba squeezed the trigger, a small figure darted in front of Six-Two-Six, kneeling so that it was eye-to-eye with the creature.

"Stop!" Pleakley howled, deflecting the blaster upward so that its energy fired harmlessly into the air. "I have determined this situation to be _far _too hazardous!"

"Don't worry... I won't hit him,"Jumba promised, annoyed. He picked the agent up again and threw him out of the way.

Pleakley would not be stopped, however. "No! That boy is a part of the mosquito food chain!" He dug a strange-looking red object out of his shoulder bag and handed it to Jumba. "Here! educate yourself," he declared, his finger plugging the barrel of the blaster.

Jumba lifted the device to his inner set of eyes and peered through it, flipping the lever on its side to change the pictures contained within the lenses. It described an astonishingly simple food-chain, with the pink bipeds such as the boy below making up the top of the predator side of the cycle but for the insects which required their blood as sustenance. "Using a little boy for a shield..." he muttered in disgust, then waved a threatening fist at his creation. "This is low, even for you!"

Six-Two-Six cackled, standing on his head and waggling his butt at the concealed aliens. "Whoo-hoo!"

Exclaiming in disugust, Jumba shoved Pleakley out of his way, and began to run down the trail leading to the building. "Tear him apart with all both my bare hands!" he declared, then tripped, righted himself, and kept going.

"Have you lost your mind?" the agent wailed from behind him.

The little boy had turned to look back inside the building, but whipped around when Six-Two-Six began the strange hacking noise again. "What is it?" he asked.

"We cannot be seen!" Pleakley howled, shoving Jumba behind some bushes with remarkable strength for a being of his puny size. The scientist started to protest, but continued motion from the building caught his eyes. Two more of the indigenous creatures--adults, based on their relative sizing to the youngster--walked out of the structure and stood next to the child. The female had some sort of weapon in her hand, which she used on the snarling experiment.

"Bad dog!" she declared. "Barking at nothing!"

Jumba gaped, watching as his being of unstoppable destruction squirmed away, rubbing his face against the ground. The weapon contained water! Six-Two-Six _despised_ water. How had the primitive natives discovered his weakness so quickly?

"You can't shoot, and you can't be seen," Pleakley admonished, waving a finger at him in admonishment. "Look at you!" His voice dropped to a whisper. "You look like a monster! We have to blend in."

"And how do we do that?" he demanded, watching as the little boy was lifted into a wheeled transport. Six-Two-Six, knowing he'd temporarily forestalled his would-be captors, smugly followed, scrabbling a little to get into the vehicle next to his new protector.

"Clothes and wigs," Pleakley declared. "These... uh... 'humans' may not be the most sophisticated of creatures, but they have great educational programs! There's one called _Kids in the Hall_, where--"

"Fine," Jumba interrupted, watching the wheeled vehicle move off down the gravel path and turn onto a paved road. "We'll do this _your_ way... for now."


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17

"We can't take the dog into the convenience store," Jack sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Then I'll wait out here with him," Daniel replied, crossing his arms stubbornly.

The colonel dragged the palm of his hand over his face, then lowered the rear windows a crack. "Fine. You can stay out here with him, but stay in the car."

Once Jack had disappeared inside the store, Daniel fumbled with the booster seat before finally disengaging the seatbelt and dropping to the floor. "I forgot to ask you if you already had a name," he apologized to the blue creature, who was looking around in interest. "Is Stitch an okay name or is there something else you want me to call you?"

The alien didn't respond, but instead discovered the door handle and gave it a yank. Jack had left the doors unlocked, so as soon as the door popped open, he pushed at it, then hopped out of the Jeep.

"Hey, wait!" Daniel cried out, scrambling to follow and forgetting Jack's instruction. He'd never been good at following orders anyway, so why start now? He followed after Stitch as he padded over to a garbage can at the side of the store. Sniffing the air, Stitch grabbed the plastic canister and tipped it over on its side, spilling its contents.

"Hey!" Daniel protested again, trying to wrest the garbage can upright but finding his short, skinny arms entirely unsuited to the task. As he looked around for something to use as a lever, he caught sight of his new "dog" staring through the window of the house next door. He was apparently mesmerized by the TV inside the residence, though Daniel didn't know why. He'd never been particularly enamored of 50s horror movies, but Stitch seemed to enjoy the antics of the on-screen giant spider, snarling and stomping about like a fluffy Godzilla.

"Back to the car, Stitch," he insisted, only just _now_ remembering Jack's words. He tugged on Stitch's arm, trying to convince him to follow, but the obviously frustrated creature just pushed him, knocking him to the ground. Before Daniel could protest _or_ get back to his feet, Stitch hauled him upright and clutched him into another hug. Confused, Daniel glanced over his shoulder, but the only witnesses to the alien's misbehavior and subsequent apology were a heavyset man in a hideous tropical-print shirt and a sallow woman in a sundress, seated at a picnic table near the trees.

There was something... odd... about the couple, but before Daniel could wrap his mind around it, he was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a minivan, cutting into his line of vision as it parked at the gas station. He felt an irrational sense of dread, recognizing the vehicle even before kids began to spill out of the sliding doors on either side, clutching their ubiquitous noisy electronic toys, dolls, and action figures.

"Hey look, it's Danny!" shouted eight year-old Ben Jorgensson. His ten year-old sister ignored the outburst, following her dad into the convenience store, but the five year-old twins didn't. The youngest was being helped to the restroom by their mother, who spared Daniel only a brief glance before disappearing into the door on the side of the building.

"Hi, Danny," exclaimed the twins in unison, setting Daniel's teeth on edge. It wasn't that their voices were particularly shrill or anything, but rather that he'd just as soon been left alone. _Especially_ by the Jorgensson kids.

Dinner late last night had been an interesting affair, but Daniel knew Jack had enjoyed chatting with his former Air Force buddy and some of the stunts they used to pull as lieutenants. Dave's wife Marcy, it turned out, was Jack's ex-girlfriend, whom he'd lost to Dave after introducing them at a party. Lucky Jack, Daniel had thought to himself, even though Marcy hadn't really done anything to annoy him.

The kids, however, had done plenty. He hadn't had much of an introduction to them before the radio show, but had not all been impressed by them afterward. They were noisy, rude, interrupted the adults, were jealously possessive of their dolls, action figures, and noisy electronic games, and had given Daniel the cold shoulder. Any time one of the grown-ups paid him any attention, Daniel found himself on the receiving end of sullen glares.

He sighed reluctantly, realizing neither the older boy nor the twins would be deterred from approaching. "Hi, Ben. Hi, Billy; hi, Mina."

"What's that thing?" Mina asked, pointing at Stitch.

"He's not a 'thing', he's... my new dog," Daniel answered.

"Oh, so you _can_ say more than a few words at a time," Ben sneered. "Here I thought you were just stupid."

Daniel rolled his eyes. He'd thought he'd left childish name-calling behind some twenty-five years ago. "I  
think you'd be surprised."

"Oh yeah?" Ben demanded.

He felt his lips quirk. "Let's just say English isn't the only language I speak and leave it there."

Ben apparently had no interest in leaving _anything_ alone. "Well, my Dad taught me to speak German! Ick hizer Benjamin! Ick bin ock yaren alt and du biss doom!"

He couldn't suppress a wince at the _atrocious_ grammar and pronunciation, and couldn't resist telling Ben so... in German. "_Deine Grammatik und Aussprache sind schrecklich. Du solltest dich darin üben, bevor du versuchst mich zu beleidigen._"

"Huh?"

"Ask me again in a few years," he answered with a smug grin.

Suddenly, there was a shriek and a snarl, and Daniel whirled in time to see Stitch rip the head off of the Barbie doll he'd just stolen from the now-crying Mina. He hurled the plastic pieces to the ground, issuing a noise of disgust.

"Hey!" Billy squawked, dropping his Gameboy and kicking at Stitch. The snarling creature put a swift stop to _that_ behavior, grabbing the boy's hiking boot in his teeth and pulling him off his feet.

"Get your stupid dog off my brother and sister!" Ben shouted, shoving Daniel's shoulders and sending him sprawling on the pavement. His tailbone absorbed most of the impact, but before he could cry out, the bigger boy was sitting on his chest and flailing at his face.

Daniel was never more grateful for his team's relentless training in hand-to-hand combat. He turned his head to lessen the impact of the fist into a glancing blow, then heaved to dislodge Ben. The other boy cried out in surprise and fell over, but was just as suddenly scooped up into the air by a scowling Dave Jorgensson. Blinking and rubbing at his stinging cheek, Daniel turned his head to see Jack wrapping both arms around Stitch and pulling him off both Billy _and_ Mina.

Jack was fuming and in full colonel-mode. "Daniel!"

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Hopefully, I remember enough of my OWN German to have gotten Daniel's reply correct... and don't worry, the translation will be in the next part!

Update 07/14: Thanks to Lis for revising my German!


	18. Chapter 18

Part 18

Bumping into Dave and his oldest daughter inside the store had been a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. His friend and the family were on their way to visit Dave's mother in St. Rita, just up the road, but had stopped in St. Anthony to let Rosie, the youngest, use the bathroom. Dave and Kelsie came in to round up drinks but Ben and the twins had apparently seen someone they knew in the parking lot.

"Well, then. I guess that must've been your Danny they saw out there."

Jack found himself nodding, automatically glancing out the window to see if "his" Danny had stayed with the car as he'd been instructed. He nearly keeled over in shock when he saw the shrimp standing next to the Jeep, talking to the Jorgensson kids. Daniel had actually followed _orders_?

"Hey, Jack, you and Danny are welcome to come with. Marcy's mom always fixes more food than we have room to eat..."

He shook his head, trying to figure out how to politely break it to Dave that Danny--_Daniel_ didn't like being around kids. Hesitating, he glanced out the window again, just in time to see Ben knock the younger boy to the ground.

The bag of dog chow and a pair of metal food pans clattered to the tiled floor, and Jack was racing out the door before he had time to register he was even in motion. Dave, former Air Force Academy track star that he was, was hot on Jack's heels, so the colonel made the split decision to rescue the twins from Daniel's mutant "dog". His change of plans proved to be the correct course of action, as the miniature Jaffa-trained warrior twisted beneath his attacker and tossed him off seconds before Dave caught Ben by the shoulders.

"Daniel!" Jack grumped in exasperation, wondering--not for the first time by _any_ means--just what it was that drew trouble to his young friend. Age and size seemed to have no effect on the power of his trouble magnet!

"It wasn't my fault!" Daniel protested immediately.

"You started it!" Ben wailed. "You and your stupid dog!"

Jack glared at the squirming bundle of fur in his arms and turned to drop him in the still-open car. He slammed the door shut, wincing at the scraping noises Stitch's claws made on the window. "Danny?"

Heaving a sigh, Daniel rolled over and pushed himself upright, ignoring or simply not noticing the hand Jack had extended to help him. "Stitch grabbed Mina's doll," he began, staring down at his dusty knees. "Billy tried to kick him and Stitch knocked him down. Then Ben pushed me over and tried to hit me."

"Nuh-uh!" Ben yelled. "I didn't push you 'til you said mean things to me! In German, so I know what you said!"

"Daniel!" he snapped.

"I did not!" Daniel shouted back, taking a step forward before being restrained by Jack's hands on his upper arm.

"Aht! What did we say about using other languages?" They'd discussed this on the plane to Minneapolis, but Daniel could be quite the absent-minded professor.

"English only," the kid muttered. "But what if someone uses a language I know first?"

"So your kid knows more than one language, then?" Dave asked in surprise.

"One or two," Jack sighed.

Marcy had just come out of the bathroom with little Rosie in hand, and the twins abandoned hiding behind Dave and Kelsie to run for their mother. "What's the big fuss, Dave?" she demanded, one hand holding onto the three year-old and the other planted on her hip.

"Seems Danny and Ben got into a spat over something they each said in German, then Danny's, er... dog, I guess, grabbed Mina's new Barbie." He pointed out the decapitated doll now lying abandoned on the ground.

"Oh, honey, Ben doesn't speak German all that good."

"Yeah-huh!" Ben protested.

Daniel crossed his arms, rattling something off that sounded like some of the odd hacking noises Stitch made. A grin broke across Dave's face when he was finished. "Well, then."

"Care to enlighten the rest of us?" Jack griped.

"He said that all he said was that Ben's grammar and pronunciation were terrible, and that he really should practice before trying to insult him. Apparently Ben tried to call him 'stupid'."

He blew out a puff of air. "Stupid" was one thing Daniel most certainly was _not_, though he did have his moments of impulsivity, rudeness, and deliberate thickness. Since he _was_ a carrier of the Y-chromosome, Jack would be more concerned if he _didn't_. "All right, here's what we're going to do: Danny here is going to apologize for his dog."

"Jack!"

But Dave was nodding. "Fair enough. And Ben here is going to apologize for pushing Danny and calling him stupid."

"Yeah," Ben agreed sulkily. "Sorry, Danny."

"Daniel," he corrected automatically. "And I'm sorry Stitch destroyed Mina's doll... and knocked Billy over."

Jack felt an irrational surge of pride that _his_ kid had displayed far better manners in his apology. Just as suddenly, he felt like kicking himself. Daniel, despite having the brain of a thirty-five year-old but the _sense_ of a four year-old, had always been good at diplomacy. He should know better than to get into fights with other children, which meant Jack was going to have to have _another_ talk with him.

"Daniel, do you think you can _stay _in the car while I finish up the shopping I was doing?"

The pint-sized archaeologist was wrapped up in one of his tightest self-hugs. "Uh-huh."

"And you _and_ Stitch will stay put until I get out?" Another "uh-huh" was his reply. His chin was tucked to his chest and his eyes had yet to leave the pavement. The defensive posture was one Jack had often seen on the grown-up Daniel, and even then he had hated it every time it appeared.

As Dave and Marcy shooed the kids back into their minivan--minus the intended drinks--Jack stifled a groan from his protesting joints and knelt on the pavement. Now more or less at eye level with his stubborn ward, he hooked a finger under Daniel's chin to get him to lift his gaze. "We'll talk when we get back to the cabin, okay?"

Sorrowful blue eyes met his brown ones for only a brief moment before sliding off to the side. "Okay," he replied in a small voice.

From _that_ too-quiet tone, it wasn't "okay". Unfortunately, Jack didn't have the time to properly address the situation. If he stayed on the pavement much longer, his knees would lock up and _then_ who'd drive Daniel back to the cabin?

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Happy Birthday, Daniel Jackson! If you believe the throw-away comment from "1969", he's 42. Using Michael Shanks' birth-year, he's 37. 


	19. Chapter 19

Part 19

Jack couldn't resist checking the rearview mirror to see how Daniel and Stitch were getting along. For someone who'd vehemently declared he _had_ to have this particular pooch, the kid was showing a remarkable _lack_ of interest in it now. Then, just as though he'd heard Jack's thoughts, Daniel flicked a glance at the mirror, then down at the creature resting on the floorboards.

"Creature" was about as generous a description as Jack was going to give the thing, because he was almost-certain it wasn't _actually_ a dog. A mutated mix between a chimpanzee and a fruit bat, maybe, with a little bit of grizzly bear thrown in for tooth and claw details. He wasn't _about_ to guess why it was blue, unless it had recently gone for a dye job.

Oh, yes, and get this: it had apparently only recently been hit by a truck and left for dead. Seriously.

Now that he thought about it, maybe _that_'s what had drawn Daniel to the bizarre little monster. Daniel, being the only person on Earth to have survived being killed _at least_ three times--if not more--was probably an expert on critters brought back from the dead. The recent foiled explosion on Kelowna should have _killed_ him and the other scientists, or so Carter had "assured" him, thereby inadvertently inducing nightmares of all unpleasant sorts.

So... Daniel was good at cheating death, and apparently so was this "dog". That made them kindred spirits in Jack's book, so he was willing to give the mutt--and wasn't _that_ a gross understatement--the benefit of the doubt.

Even if it did look like a demented koala.

As he pulled into the gravel lane that led back to his cabin, he began to mentally plan the rest of the day. Obviously, the first step was to have a chat with his recalcitrant linguist. Beyond that, he hadn't much else in mind. Daniel wouldn't want to spend it fishing anymore than he had yesterday, but since they now had a dog, maybe they could take turns trying to teach it new tricks. The thing seemed to have figured out how to come when called, but Jack had his doubts about its ability to ask to be let out or use papers to do its thing.

Madeline had given them a collar and leash in the shelter's "adoption package", and he'd managed to pick up other essentials after the fight in the parking lot was successfully dispelled. There used to be a vet who made house-calls in this area, so if Jack could track him down, they could get the dog's shots taken care of from here, too. Finally, though he'd made a good showing of things today by sitting atop the screeching twins and drooling in their faces, Jack needed to make sure Stitch knew to defend Daniel should any of the NID's many rogue agents get the bright idea to kidnap the galaxy's youngest archaeologist.

Another glance in the rearview mirror was curiously void of little boy, so Jack risked a peek over his right shoulder. Daniel was bent over as far as he could, lips moving quickly as he whispered to his pet. Jack couldn't help but grin.

"More meaningful conversations with dogs, eh?"

Daniel's head came up swiftly. "What?"

Finally at the cabin, Jack parked the Jeep and shut off the engine. "Three years ago, the planet with the little naked white guys?"

A shy smile crossed his face. "Yeah, something like that."

Grinning, Jack unbuckled and slid out from behind the wheel, then opened the rear door and leaned across the back seat.

"You don't _have _to help me get out if you don't want to," Daniel began, biting his lower lip.

"I want to," Jack answered. "Unless _you_ don't want me to."

"It's okay, then." Obligingly, Daniel raised his arms so Jack could undo the seatbelt, but scrambled down to the floorboard before the man could attempt to lift him. "C'mon, Stitch."

"I take it picking you up or carrying you is out," he observed, stepping to the side so the boy and his dog could drop to the ground.

Daniel's nose wrinkled. "Yeah, it's kinda weird, seein' as how I used to be _bigger_ than you."

"I _distinctly_ recall being an inch or more taller, Daniel."

"Well, yeah, but I... had broader shoulders, weighed more." He bit his lower lip. "You know, if you _really_--"

"Nope, won't do it again, then. Unless I have to, of course." Jack closed the door, then locked the SUV with its remote. Crossing the front yard, he sat down heavily on the edge of the porch. "Come on over, Daniel."

Heaving a martyred sigh for the lecture he _obviously_ knew was coming, Daniel solemnly instructed his dog to not leave the yard. Jack didn't expect the thing to pay much attention, but it rose up on its hind legs, sniffed the air, then proceeded to explore the immediate vicinity of the cabin.

Daniel plopped down gracelessly next to Jack, but on the opposite side of the porch step. "I'm sorry," he blurted.

"For what?"

"For not staying in the car, for not keeping Stitch from tearing up Mina's doll, for using German when you--"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_ Slow down there, Grasshopper, you're getting too far ahead of me."

"Sorry," Daniel whispered.

Jack wanted to beat his head against one of the porch posts. "Okay, so you didn't stay _in_ the car, but you were just right outside of it."

"No... Stitch--er, I opened the back door and Stitch got out to explore. I went after him and brought him back to the car." He bit his lip. "Not before he'd tipped a trash can, though."

As though his words were prophetic, there was a crashing noise from behind the house. Jack debated getting up to investigate, but figured whatever had just been knocked over and/or broken could wait. "He's pretty destructive, isn't he?"

"I guess so. But he can be taught not to be."

Oh, yeah sure. As Teal'c would say, when swine developed aeronautic capabilties. "I had a dog that ate shoes when I was a kid." He paused dramatically before continuing. "He'd graduated to belts, wallets, and purses by the time I was a teenager."

"Stitch can be taught," Daniel insisted firmly.

Daniel's stubborn streak certainly hadn't gotten smaller when the rest of him had, that was for sure. "I'll hold you to that. If he doesn't improve by the end of our two weeks here, he goes back to the shelter."

The linguist looked as though he wanted to protest, but shut his jaw with an audible click. "He can be taught, Jack, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that, then. Now about the German thing... I'll let you have French, German, and Spanish, but try to resist answering to anything other than that, will ya?"

"I'll try," Daniel agreed reluctantly.

Well, that was about as close to a promise as he was going to get! "I guess that'll do," he replied. "One last thing, though."

Daniel's shoulders slumped even further. "What?"

"You are probably the _only_ kid who's been trained in hand-to-hand combat by two Air Force officers and a Jaffa. Try not to get into any more fights, will ya?"

His lips quirked. "I'll try."

* * *

Author's Notes:  
I had problems with this part. Not really sure why, I just did. Oh, well... 


	20. Chapter 20

Part 20

It could have been worse, Daniel decided. He'd gotten off surprisingly light in the lecture, and he knew he deserved every word of it. Still, Jack wouldn't be making all the effort to "dress him down" if he didn't plan to keep him around, and he _had_ said Daniel could keep Stitch if the alien could only learn how to behave himself. That implied the colonel had more than just a little authority in Daniel's immediate future, which may--possibly--mean Jack was going to let him stay with him!

He bit his lower lip to quell the grin that threatened to cover his face. Being small might make crying a lot harder to avoid, but he was just as vulnerable to displaying the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, too. Even if he'd ever been good at card games before, he sure didn't have a poker-face _now_.

Jack moaned softly as he hauled himself to his feet, knees doubtlessly protesting the motion. "All right, then... it's just you, me, and the... dog. What do you want to do first?"

"I'd like to show Stitch my room," he admitted.

"Nuh-uh. The dog stays out here."

"But Jack..."

"Do you know if he's house-trained?"

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

Jack rolled his eyes, conceding to Daniel's point. "All right, but if he makes a mess, you're cleaning it up."

"Okay," he agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "Stitch! C'mon!"

Impossibly fast, there was a blue streak that resolved into the form of one furry alien "dog", standing in front of the door as Jack finished unlocking it. The colonel turned to face Daniel and jumped at Stitch's sudden appearance. "Wasn't he just--?" he began.

"Just around the corner," Daniel supplied, not really sure _where_ Stitch had been.

Safely ensconced in his room, Daniel pushed the door shut, hesitated, then dragged a milk crate in front of the door to block it. "Okay, Stitch, this is my room. Well, the room I'm sleeping in while Jack and I are here, anyway." He crinkled his nose. "I'm assuming you have a lot of questions for me, because I know _I_ do for you."

The alien, however, seemed interested only in investigating the bed. He hopped up onto the edge and crawled over to the nightstand, knocking the alarm clock onto the floor before punching the pillow with one furry fist.

"Get down from there!" Daniel cried in exasperation, climbing onto the bed and reaching out to rescue the pillow he'd brought with him from Colorado before it fell victim to the destructive claws of his new "pet". He got the pillow, all right, but not in the way he intended. Stitch swing the king-size case of white goose down like Babe Ruth, whacking Daniel upside the head and knocking him over backward on the bed. He then left the pillow's not-inconsiderable weight lying atop the archaeologist.

"Stop that!" Daniel protested, squirming out from underneath the pillow just as Stitch discovered the leather-bound journal that Daniel had left at the head of the bed. The alien flipped it open and was posed with extended claws to rip the pages. Howling a frustrated "No!", Daniel dove across the bed and rescued the book from certain doom. He overextended, though, tumbling off the edge of the bed and landing on the floor with a painful thump.

There was the sudden racket of falling objects striking the hardwood and Daniel rolled over to see what he'd accidentally knocked over in his sacrificial leap. It wasn't until there was a second clatter that he realized it wasn't _his_ actions that had caused it. Peering around the foot of the bed, he watched as Stitch knocked over a pair of hockey sticks that were leaning against the ancient wardrobe next to the bedroom window.

_Surely_ Jack had heard all the noise and was probably on his way inside. Daniel had to stop the furry creature's destructive rampage _now_. Spotting a cardboard box containing several badly-tarnished trophies, he made a grab for a few bright strips of cloth and hurled them around the snarling alien's head.

As soon as the weight of the medals settled on his chest, Stitch froze, then fell backward from his perch on the window sill. Relieved, Daniel sank to his knees next to him, brow furrowing in confusion when he heard the soft purring sound that issued from the fallen creature's throat.

"You know, you _don't_ have to wreck everything you touch," he sighed. "I want to help you, Stitch, I really do, but I can't protect you if you won't cooperate with me. When I was a kid--er, the first time, anyway--I used to get mad sometimes. Some of the people I lived with didn't like noisy or disruptive kids, so I had to find other ways to channel my frustration. I would work on learning a new language, draw something from memory, conjugate verbs, or write in my journal. Now, I don't know if you can do any of those things or not, but why not try doing something _con_structive for a change?"

Stitch sat up abruptly, removing the medals from around his neck and pressing them into Daniel's hand, then shot off across the room in a furry blue blur. Daniel looked down at the objects his fingers clutched, guessing by the crossed sticks on the fronts and the dates on the backs that these were awards Jack had earned playing hockey as a kid. From the number of medals and trophies in the box, he must have been _good_ at it, too.

A scuffling noise caught his attention, tearing Daniel's gaze back to where Stitch was busily stacking and arranging boxes, crates, books, and old toys. When he was finished, the creature stood in the middle of what looked like a fair representation of a city street.

"Wow," Daniel managed.

Just then, Stitch began roaring and snarling, stomping about in a repeat of his earlier Godzilla impression. He toppled "buildings", overturned "houses", and even made little "help me, help me!" noises when he picked up a toy car and chewed on it exaggeratedly.

Daniel was pretty sure his eyebrows were attempting to merge with his hairline. "We have a _lot_ of work to do," he declared solemnly.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Would whoever parked the Writer's Block in my driveway please remove it? Thanks! 


	21. Chapter 21

Part 21

Jack grunted as he hauled the overturned garbage can upright, muttering imprecations under his breath. To paraphrase his favorite movie, he was going to get Daniel _and_ his little dog, too. Daniel may not have had a direct hand in the trash can's downfall, but he _was _the one who'd chosen Stitch over other less-destructive mutts at the shelter. He still had his doubts about Stitch, but the blue thing's dogged determination--pardoning the pun--to tip waste receptacles was now two for two.

Garbage can uprighted, he was passing by Daniel's bedroom window when he once again heard the sound of falling objects. It was immediately followed by the muffled yell of an annoyed four year-old archaeologist. Jack winced, wondering which of his old hockey keepsakes had just been sacrificed to the destructive dog. The shade was down so he couldn't peer in, so the colonel marched himself to the front door--ten steps closer than the kitchen door--and prepared to enter the fray.

Before he could set foot in the cabin, the sound of tires on gravel reached his ears. The rumble was too near to belong to any one of the "neighbors" who shared the gravel lane, which meant that Jack and Daniel had an unexpected visitor arriving. Whether the newcomer was a welcome visitor or not remained to be seen, so the colonel decided to leave Daniel and his dog to their own devices while he greeted--and possibly got rid of--their guest.

Shortly, a dark blue Ford appeared around the trees, doors sporting a bright yellow Minnesota Department of Natural Resources logo. Jack had no idea what brought the DNR to his door, but he was glad Daniel had insisted Stitch accompany him inside, as explaining the strange creature would be... interesting.

The truck ground to a halt, then shut off. Moments later, the driver's door opened and a rather sizeable black man emerged. Built like a brick house, his shoulders strained the seams of his tan uniform, and his bald head shone dully in the early afternoon sun. If he'd had a tattoo in the middle of his forehead, the conservation officer could easily pass as Teal'c's brother.

"Good afternoon, sir. Are you the owner of this residence?"

Geez, he even _talked _like Teal'c, too, a smooth bass with carefully precise elocution.

"Well, it's a vacation home, but yes, I'm the owner." The colonel stepped off the porch and met the man halfway, extending his hand. "Jack O'Neill."

"Officer Bubbles," came the reply, accompanied by a rather firm handshake.

Jack made a mental note to check for bruises, then did a double-take. "Bubbles?"

Officer "Bubbles" ignored the question. "There have been recent reports of suspicious activity in the area, Mr. O'Neill, and I am interested in any information you might have."

"Suspicious activity?" he repeated.

"Poaching. Trespassing. Illegal dumping. Fishing without a permit. I trust _you_ are properly licensed, Mister O'Neill?"

"Colonel O'Neill," he corrected, digging into his wallet and producing his permanent fishing license. Bubbles raised a very Teal'c-like eyebrow as he ran his thumb over the word "Non-Resident", but nodded and returned the license.

"I see you are not a resident of Minnesota."

"Not at the moment, no. Born here, plan to retire here eventually, but currently stationed in Colorado."

"I see." The conservation officer peered over his sunglasses at the cabin. "Are you visiting alone?"

"No, I brought my... four year-old with me. He's inside the house right now. I could call him out here, if you--"

Bubbles settled the dark lenses back into place. "That won't be necessary."

Jack nodded. "So... if you're the new CO for this area, what happened to ol' Brett Erikson?"

"Retired," Bubbles answered simply. This man could give Teal'c some serious competition in terms of chattiness.

The front door creaked open just then, and Jack turned to find Daniel standing on the porch with his hand on the door knob, blinking at the conservation officer. His hair was mussed and clothing dishevelled, looking for all the world like he'd spent the last half hour wrestling with an alligator. Jack wasn't entirely certain which combatant won.

"Hey, Danny, this is the local conservation officer, Officer Bubbles."

Daniel walked over next to Jack, scrubbing ineffectively at his ruffled hair. "Conservation officer?"

"What pretty much every other state calls a 'game warden'," Jack explained.

"Bubbles?"

The colonel grinned as the conservation officer's jaw muscles twitched just like Teal'c's did when his patience was tried. He was _seriously_ going to have to introduce the Jaffa to this guy.

"I was just informing your father of recent illegal activities noted in the area," Bubbles announced smoothly, once again ignoring the inquiry into his name. Opening the dark brown flap on his shirt pocket, he produced a business card. "Call me if you have anything to report."

Nodding, Jack accepted the card, eyebrows raising when Daniel cocked his head and stared at the massive man's hand. "Your knuckles say 'Cobra'." Bewildered, Jack looked at the name emblazoned on the business card.

Officer Bubbles cleared his throat. "Have a good day, gentlemen."

The pair watched in stunned silence as the large man returned to his truck, started the engine, and drove back down the gravel lane toward the road. They continued to stare even after the sounds of the truck's passage had faded away, Jack only dimly aware that Stitch was now out of the house and prowling the front yard. Finally, the man and the boy looked at one another, chorusing, "Cobra Bubbles?"

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Big thanks are due to bkwurm1 and her family for the _invaluable_ "inside information" on Minnesota! 


	22. Chapter 22

Part 22

Daniel sighed and flopped down on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. It had been a long, _long_ day, and it wasn't completely over yet. It was only just after lunch.

After the departure of the curiously-named conservation officer who did a remarkable impression of Teal'c, Stitch joined Jack and Daniel outside. The colonel proceeded to scold the alien for knocking over his garbage can--two for two, Daniel grinned inwardly--which Stitch took with an expression of complete boredom.

"For cryin' out loud," Jack had cried in exasperation. "I think you listen better than the dog does!"

Daniel immediately crossed his arms. "I should hope so."

"That didn't come out right, did it?" Jack winced, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, you, me, Stitch, and a stick. Up for a game of fetch?"

The game wound up being Jack and Daniel playing fetch, while Stitch took a near-maniacal glee in watching them pitch first a stick, then an old tennis ball to one another. In Jack's loudly expressed estimation, the blue creature had just down-graded from the mutant spawn of a koala and a coyote to a cross between the cartoon Tasmanian Devil and a hyena. Finally, they gave up playing catch and broke for lunch.

Sprawled across the bed, Daniel worried at his lower lip while he tried to figure out a way to open a more effective communication with Stitch. It was clear the alien understood English--it seemed the whole _galaxy_ did at times--but he didn't seem at all interested in listening, and took an almost perverse satisfaction in doing the opposite of what he was told. The only thing it seemed he was content to do was stay in the yard... and even then he gazed longingly down the gravel road.

Without having anything confirmed or denied by his furry guest, Daniel had only been able to guess at what brought him to this planet, and the picture painted wasn't pretty. While it was improper to judge an alien culture by Daniel's own standards, it seemed that Stitch's propensity for and gleeful enjoyment of destruction were more akin to a juvenile delinquint than a productive member of society. He was constantly looking over his shoulder, ears laying back and teeth baring at something he could see, smell, or otherwise sense, but Daniel never saw who or what it was.

If he had to make a wild guess, Stitch was a runaway. The flash of light and echoing boom Daniel's highly-caffeinated brain believed was the precursor to an alien invasion now seemed to be closer to the truth than he'd thought: it had been the spectacularly pyrotechnic end to Stitch's interstellar joy ride in a stolen car.

Not that he was applying human behavioral tendencies to the situation, of course.

One thing that still had him puzzled was Jack... but since when was that news? Of course, the unusual love/hate friendship Daniel had once shared with the colonel had been thrown completely out of whack by the Kelownan incident and subsequent shrinking of the archaeologist. Despite his initial misgivings, Daniel could view this only as an improvement on their relationship, which had slowly and inexplicably eroded in recent years. Now, things were almost as good as they had ever been, though admittedly awkward due to several factors, not the least of which was due to Daniel's drastically reduced physical stature.

His concerns that Jack might want to get rid of him seemed to be unfounded, despite the conversation he'd overheard in the wee hours of the morning... and didn't that seem a long time ago! Jack seemed to still be hiding something from him, though, but at this time, Daniel had no idea what that could be. He could take any number of wild guesses, but decided against letting his fertile imagination run rampant. He'd made _that_ mistake this morning, too.

For now, Daniel decided to focus his concerns and efforts on finding out what made Stitch "tick", and keeping Jack from shooting the creature. The colonel was still playing along with the laughable idea the blue alien was a dog, despite sufficient evidence to the contrary. There had been one moment early in their "fetch" efforts when Stitch had snatched the stick out of Daniel's hands and thrown it, earning a raised eyebrow but surprisingly no commentary from Jack.

So, in addition to stubbornly pursuing answers to his many questions about Stitch, Daniel was determined to do whatever it took to keep Jack as cheerfully relaxed as he'd been so far today. Part of it, he decided, was Jack's being back in his home state of Minnesota, which in retrospect Daniel might not have been giving a fair chance to impress him. Any place that gave the habitually twitchy colonel the desire to sit still _had_ to be nice.

The second factor, Daniel guessed, was once more being in the company of a child. Despite the heathenistic tendencies of the Jorgensson children, Jack had had a blast teasing and pestering the kids. He was a natural with children, and over the years had lended his patience and limitless capacity for fun to children from other planets, including Janet's daughter Cassie, the Ree'tou Charlie, and Merrin. His paternal urges had been permanently frustrated by the death of his son, and Daniel had often found himself on the receiving end of Jack's parenting even when he was an adult, so it was hardly surprising that his new child-sized form was touching on all of his friend's parental nerves.

It didn't take a genius to notice the uncanny resemblence between the face in the mirror and the photo on Jack's nightstand.

Rolling off the bed, Daniel dug into the backpack Jack had gotten him to replace his briefcase, withdrawing his laptop, power cord, and cell phone. Placing the items onto the edge of the bed, he bent again to retrieve a connector cable and his wallet, then plugged in the laptop and crawled back onto the bed. He wasn't even supposed to have his wallet with him, as it would be difficult to explain why a four year-old had possession of a thirty-five year-old's credit cards and driver's license, but he'd carefully concealed it in the backpack's inside CD player pocket.

After the laptop was powered up and the modem connected to the internet via the cell phone, Daniel checked through his bookmarked pages to locate his favorite online bookseller, then began a search. At last night's radio show, the host had mentioned a book that had been published a few years back, but was still very much a "definitive guide for the would-be Minnesotan". It took a few minutes to locate the correct title, a search further hampered by the slow internet connection, but he finally found what he was looking for and added it to the shopping cart.

Clicking the "checkout" button, he carefully keyed in the address for the cabin as the shipping destination, then selected overnight delivery. It was Sunday so the book wouldn't go out until the next day, but having a reference guide Tuesday morning to further his anthropological study of Minnesotan culture was worth the extra expense.

Once the transaction was complete, he disconnected the computer and tucked it and his wallet and cell phone back into the backpack. Grinning to himself, he bounced off the bed and went to join Jack and Stitch outside.


	23. Chapter 23

Part 23

After a long, leisurely dusk, night had had finally beaten back the last rays of the sun. On a small hill overlooking the O'Neill cabin, two figures set up camp. The larger of the two had required little time to lay out his bedroll and the electronic surveillance equipment he carried, but the smaller had spent half an hour on his phone--talking to his mother--and was only just now getting settled.

"This little boy is wasting his time," chuckled Jumba Jookiba, peering through quadoculars he'd set up next to his bedroll. "Six-Two-Six cannot be taught to ignore its destructive programming."

And indeed, the view through the scope was showing the creature very much indulging in its chaotic nature, picking up his furry rampage where he'd left off in the afternoon. Now there was no box left unturned, no book left on its shelf, and no writing implement left unbroken. Even as Jumba watched, his finest creation toppled an as-yet-untouched arrangement of sports implements, drawing an amused chuckle and quiet encouragement from the Evil Genius.

The scientist then glanced over his shoulder, thinking his excessively chatty companion had been far too quiet. "What are you doing?"

Pleakly swiftly doffed the long, black-haired wig he'd worn with this afternoon's disguise, dropping the mirror in which he'd been admiring himself and turning away. "Nothing!"

It didn't _look_ like nothing, it looked like the hairless alien had been preening! Jumba himself had once had a fine head of hair until every last follicle had been claimed in an experiment gone wrong. "Uh, say, I want to try it on."

"No!"

"Share!" he demanded, thinking this unfair. Why should Pleakley be the only one to get to have hair? "Let me try it!" His one-eyed companion turned away again, and Jumba took that moment to tackle.

"Hey!" Pleakley protested, squawking in surprise as the scientist accidentally poked him in the eye wresting the wig from him. "You're just jealous 'cause I'm pretty!"

But even a small Kweltekwan was too much for a Broomian to best, and Jumba shortly emerged triumphantly, the wig his prize. Cheerfully, he plonked the hair atop his head and peered gleefuly through the strands. He turned to demand the mirror be handed over so he could see how good it looked on him, when he heard a gasp from his companion.

"Don't move," Pleakley instructed, carefully holding his forearm parallel to the ground. "A mosquito has chosen me as her perch. She's so beautiful!"

Curious to see the delicate being for which this entire planet was protected, Jumba leaned in for a closer look. Pleakley might have thought the insect lovely, but then again, his species had a strange idea of beauty anyway. The small black bug had thin, translucent wings, spindly legs, and a long snout. It emitted a high-pitched hum that set Jumba's teeth on edge and gave him the insane urge to begin slapping himself.

"Look, it's another one. And another one!" Pleakley exclaimed. "Why, it's a whole flock. And they like me!"

As Jumba watched in astonishment, the Broomian was soon swarmed by hundreds and thousands of the tiny creatures. Had someone said these insects were an endangered species? Perhaps the duo had inadvertently made their camp near a nest or hive of some sort. He quickly glanced around, but could see no obvious source for the bugs.

Pleakley, however, was delighted to have the attention, despite the fact that all Jumba could see of him now was his over-large eye and even bigger mouth. "They're nuzzling my flesh with their noses!" he exclaimed. "Now they're, um... they're..."

Then the eye blinked, watered, and an anguished wail split the otherwise quiet night air.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Just a short part for today... I've been busy trying to get stuff ready to start back to college next month (yay!) after a four-year hiatus, so things are a little nutty! All dialogue in this part came directly (or was adapted) from the movie. 


	24. Chapter 24

Part 24

Jack yawned and scrubbed sleepily at his right eye, gave a sniff, and scratched his chest. Today had been one thoroughly exhausting day, despite its dubious beginnings. After lunch, Daniel had popped out of his room with more energy and enthusiasm than Jack had seen since the linguist discovered the Rosetta Stone of Linear A in the ruins of an offworld temple.

Somehow, Daniel managed to talk Stitch into participating in a game of hide and seek. The blue creature proved to be remarkably adept, since he apparently had the sense of smell one would expect from a dog, and could track the little boy easily. Daniel then got more creative, doubling back on his trail and utilizing some of the evasion techniques Jack and Teal'c had drilled into him over the years.

Once, when it was Stitch's turn to hide, Jack's jaw was overcome by excessive gravity. He'd glanced up from his half-hearted fishing endeavors _just_ in time to see Stitch glance left, glance right, then climb up a tree and settle amongst its branches with an ease no real dog could match. Now, the German Shepherd-mix Jack had owned as a kid was known for climbing trees during thunderstorms, but he doubted it had accomplished the task without a good running leap. Stitch had simply walked to the base of the tree, then walked up the trunk.

Any last clinging hopes that the blue beast was just a strange-looking mutt had been instantly obliterated. He still hadn't the foggiest idea _what_ Stitch was, but "dog" was out of the question. In fact, Jack was seriously reconsidering Daniel's alien invasion theory, though he was reluctant to vocalize his thoughts.

For some reason, it seemed to be _important_ to Daniel that Jack believe his new pet was a mere dog. He'd taken to stealing sly glances at the colonel every time Stitch did something unusual, waiting for Jack's reaction. When no such activity was forth-coming, Daniel continued playing as though nothing was amiss.

_Playing_. No matter how often Jack joked that Daniel's archaeological efforts amounted to "playing in the dirt", he'd only ever seen Daniel "play" with Cassie, and even then with less than half the exuberance he now exhibited. Despite the circumstances and the less-than-ideal dog, Jack congratulated himself on his decisions to bring Daniel to Minnesota and get him a pet.

The blue-furred monster and blue-eyed boy played until dinnertime, then spent the remaining daylight hours sprawled on their bellies on the dock or walking the edge of the pond. Stitch seemed leery of water, but was willing enough to follow Daniel's lead. After the sun set, the pair retreated once more to the smaller bedroom and shut themselves away for the night. A few crashes and muffled protests later, all was quiet.

Jack had stayed on the couch to read a magazine, but accidentally fell asleep mid-article. When he woke just a little after midnight, he locked the doors and switched out the lights. He then headed for the bathroom, only to discover the light shining under the closed door. After a minute, he heard the toilet flush and the sink run, then the door opened.

"Good night, Daniel," he began automatically, then did a double-take.

Stitch blinked up at him solemnly, then padded off to the bedroom.

"I guess he _is_ housetrained," Jack marveled, staring even after the bedroom door had been shut.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Another short one, I know... and so's the next. Unfortunately, since each "chapter" is just a change in POV, there might be a few more like this before all's said and done. That said, I'm giving you _two_ of these "shorties" today. 


	25. Chapter 25

Part 25

If one good thing had come of the encounter with the mosquitos, it was that Pleakley had finally shut up. The sallow-skinned Broomian was covered in thousands of painful bites courtesy of the "beautiful" natives who'd loved him so well. Jumba had laughed himself to tears at Pleakley's predicament, but he quickly began trying different methods to repel the blood-suckers when the swarm descended in his direction. Before long, he had a low-level electrical field in place that was a sufficient deterrent to the humming pests.

Since his boneless race healed fairly quickly, Pleakley would likely be fine in the morning, though Jumba was sure his companion didn't think that was soon enough. Everything from his scrawny neck up was painfully swollen from the antigen-laden bite of the insect swarm. When Pleakley began scratching at the itchy bumps, Jumba was forced to wrap his head with bandages, and threatened to tie the agent's hands together.

Now that the excitement had subsided, Jumba once more returned his eyes to the quadoculars. The bedroom of the little boy who "protected" Six-Two-Six was now darkened, the young native having retired for the night. Initially, there was no sign of the experimental monster, but just as Jumba was about to lie back on his bedroll, the creature came into view.

All throughout the day, there had been moments when Six-Two-Six would gaze off down the rocky lane leading from the small dwelling. Jumba had believed the little monster had simply been longing to escape his native benefactors and wreak havoc on the unsuspecting populace, as that was the purpose of his creation. Now, as Six-Two-Six gazed out the window with an expression best described as "emptiness", the scientist realized he'd left the experiment with a severe design flaw.

"Now, this is interesting," he mused aloud, watching Six-Two-Six gaze around the destroyed room, claws clutching at air.

"What?" mumbled Pleakley, lying stiffly on his own bedroll so as to not provoke Jumba into following through on his earlier threat.

"Six-Two-Six was designed to be a monster," he explained, looking away from the pitiful sight in the house below, "but now he has nothing to destroy. You see, I never gave him a greater purpose."

There was no reply from Pleakley, unsurprisingly. Jumba abandoned the quadoculars and lay down, staring up at the night sky. On his homeworld, the stars always seemed low in the sky, as though one could reach out and touch them. It had inspired the Kweltekwan to step beyond his world, to pursue his academic aspirations to become one of the greatest scientists the Galactic Federation had ever known. Maybe he wasn't a household name just yet, but he'd certainly left his mark on the galaxy already.

Said mark stood in a bedroom down below, unable to fulfill his directive. He was an intelligent enough creature to know that so long as Jumba had a representative of the UGF with him, he couldn't permit himself to be seen by the natives. Should Six-Two-Six begin to harm the natives, however, his would-be captors would be forced to intervene. With no way to focus his frustrated instincts, the experiment was left with absolutely _nothing_ to do.

"What must it be like to have nothing," Jumba mused aloud, "not even memories to visit in the middle of the night?"

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Once again, all dialogue taken directly from the film. Seriously, if you haven't gone out and rented this adorable movie yet, do so! 


	26. Chapter 26

Part 26

A hand shook Daniel awake, and he blinked blearily into the darkness. "Is it my turn to watch?" he mumbled.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he wasn't an adult camping offworld, he was, in fact, a little boy on a slightly-lumpy mattress in the smaller bedroom of Jack's cabin in Minnesota. The hand which woke him didn't belong to any of his teammates, but rather to the alien who was presently allowing himself to be called "Stitch".

The blue creature grunted and thrust a book in front of Daniel's face, and for a moment the linguist panicked, thinking the destructive creature had discovered his journal or one of the valuable books he'd snuck in his luggage to help with translations. Upon touching the fabric cover, however, he realized this particular volume came from the strangely-varied collection of novels, anthologies, and reference guides that filled the stacked-fruit-crate bookcases in the bedroom.

Rolling over and sitting up, he switched on the bedside lamp, then yawned and rubbed at his eyes. Stitch took that cue to crawl up the bed, seating himself next to the human and gesturing at the book again, emitting another inquistive grunt. Taking the proffered text, Daniel peered at the gold-emblazoned title.

"'The Ugly Duckling'," he read. Stitch pointed imperiously, so he explained, "It's a sort of fairy tale--more like a fable, actually--written by Hans Christian Andersen, a Danish author from the nineteenth century--er, that's about two hundred years ago."

The blue alien made an impatient noise that sounded surprisingly close to the sort Jack was known for making when Daniel or Sam began lecturing on topics in their fields of interest. Reaching across Daniel's lap, Stitch flipped it open, pointing to a picture.

"Um, the story is about a baby duck who is different from all the other ducks. The original version has him wandering around for a year, but this one--" Daniel paused and looked ahead to the next picture "--seems to be an adaptation." He flipped back a few pages, then tapped an illustration depicting the other baby ducklings pointing and laughing at the outcast. "The other ducks thought he was ugly and made fun of him, so the Ugly Duckling ran away, hoping to find somewhere he would be loved and accepted."  
He turned the page back to the first picture Stitch indicated. The little gray bird was all by itself in the middle of the woods, crying out "I'm lost!". Even the edges of the picture had been darkened to show how isolated the poor thing was. "Here, he's alone and thinking that no one wants him. But then--" he tapped the next picture "--his real family finds him. You see, he wasn't a duckling after all, but a baby swan. He wasn't so different, he just needed to find where he belonged."

Stitch looked at him curiously, and Daniel suddenly realized his cheeks were wet. Grabbing the sheet, he tugged it up to wipe his face, then closed the book and handed it to his companion. "This was one of my favorite stories when I was a kid--the first time, of course... did I ever tell you that I'm not really a kid? I was an adult who got turned _into _a kid in an accident on another planet. Anyway, even though I try to not let what other people think of me bother me anymore, I still _feel _like an Ugly Duckling sometimes. I was different from all the other kids my age, different from all the other scientists in my field as an adult."

He smiled sadly. "I lost my parents when I was a kid, but as an adult, I found a place where I belonged. I guess I wasn't grateful enough, though, and lost my wife and home a few years ago. Then Jack let me be on his team, and I thought I had a new family. And I guess I did for a while, but it went away, too. Now I'm a kid again, and I _think_ Jack still wants to keep me around, so maybe I haven't lost my family after all. It might be bent a little--maybe a _lot_--but I think it's still good."

Realizing he was rambling, Daniel stopped talking, but was surprised to see Stitch wearing what appeared to be a thoughtful look on his face. The blue alien then gazed down at the book in his hands, one claw tracing reverently over the gilded title. As if making a decision, he hopped off the bed and walked over to the window, carefully setting the book on the window ledge.

Daniel eyed the pile of books that had been yanked out of the makeshift shelving and inwardly guessed that Stitch must have been trying to find _something _to do before discovering the illustrated fable. Looking out over the mess that had formerly been a cozily-cluttered room, he made a sudden connection between Stitch's actions and that of another young alien he'd met recently.

Well, not _really_ an alien, actually, but an android. Reese had looked like a young woman, but had had the personality of a spoiled child. Out of boredom and fear that her differences would lead to her destruction at the hands of those who didn't understand her, she'd created the Replicators as toys and protectors. Creating machines of destruction wasn't so different from destroying things oneself, and Daniel now wondered how much of Stitch's behavior came from his not being understood.

"Stitch?" he began, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket. "You know, I don't think you and me are very different at all. It's tough for people--even my own friends--to relate to me because I guess my brain just doesn't work like other people's. Now I'm an adult in a kid's body, so it's probably even harder, especially since my emotions seem to have gotten younger when the rest of me did. Maybe--if you'll let me--I can come to understand you a little better."

The blue alien turned to look at him. "Un... der... stand?"

"If you'll let me." And he hoped Stitch would, too, because Jack wasn't known for his patience. He was tolerant now, but there was no way to know that the creature wouldn't be judged "dangerous" and it be too late for him like it had been for Reese. "As your friend."

"Friend," Stitch repeated, turning back toward the book and running a claw carefully down the fabric spine.

Feeling hope well inside him, Daniel opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. Blinking hard, he shook his head. "Well, I guess it will have to wait until morning. Do you want to sleep up here on the bed? Or do you want me to make you a bed of your own?"

"Ih," Stitch replied, nodding his head.

Grinning, Daniel slithered off the bed, sizing up one of the milk crates before determining it was too small. One of the citrus crates, though, looked to just about right, if a little deep. "Help me unload this," he asked Stitch, pointing to the jury-rigged bookshelf, "and then we'll grab some blankets and a pillow from the linen closet to put in it. Will that work?"

"Ih," the alien agreed, and began moving books.


	27. Chapter 27

Part 27

Monday dawned bright and early, with a sleepy-eyed Daniel padding into the kitchen with his canine-ish companion on his heels. Jack grinned at the sight, noting matching cowlicks mussing the hair and fur of the duo. "Have a seat," he offered, turning back to the stove. "Breakfast'll be right up."

A moment later, a soft voice asked, "Why are there three places set at the table?"

Dumping the scrambled eggs into a bowl, Jack carried it and the plate of sausage links to the table, setting them down next to the stack of well-buttered toast. "There are three of us," he replied simply. "You, me, and Stitch."

Daniel gaped, then shut his mouth and glared suspiciously. "Do you normally let dogs sit at the table?"

"Would you be surprised if I said 'yes'?" he teased, pulling out his own chair and sitting. "C'mon, Daniel, you and I _both _know Stitch isn't really a dog."

The boy's shoulders slumped. "Oh."

"Oh?"

His nose crinkled cutely as he looked up at Jack. "Well, it was worth a try, wasn't it?"

"You tell me," Jack answered, pouring the milk. He looked pointedly at Stitch. "So if you're not a dog, what are you?" The blue creature only stared at him with its enormous black eyes and crawled up into the indicated chair. "He doesn't talk much," Daniel explained, "but I think he's an alien. Maybe that was his ship that crashed the other night, so now he doesn't have any way to get back home."

Stitch's blank expression seemed to be a deliberately crafted "I will neither confirm nor deny" statement, without actually verbalizing anything. "Well, what about 'Gate coordinates, does he know those? What we call the Stargate, Stitch, is this big round thing with a bunch of funny squiggles all the way around it. A bright blue wormhole forms in the middle, and you can use it to travel across the galaxy in a single step. Got anything like that where you're from?"

The alien shook his head "no", then gobbled up the sausage links Jack placed on his plate. He then snagged Daniel's plate, gulping down the meat he found there, too.

"Hey!" Daniel and Jack protested in unison.

Stitch's ears laid back and his head ducked, making him look apologetic. Rolling his eyes, Jack careful divided the remaining links into three portions and served again. This time, Stitch stuck to his own plate, eating each piece almost daintily. When he finished, he began using his paw to scoop up the eggs he had been apportioned, making a face at the taste but eating them anyway. The two humans watched in amusement as he washed everything down with his glass of milk, letting out a satisfied belch when finished.

"Somebody's got a healthy appetite," Jack remarked, handing the alien two slices of toast and refilling his glass. "Maybe the Tok'ra will let us borrow a ship to get this guy home."

Daniel's eyebrows rose. "We're going to contact the SGC?"

The colonel blew out a gust of air. "Yee-ah. We've got ourselves an extraterrestrial here, Danny. Hammond'd kill us both if we don't report him."

"True," he sighed. "But what'll happen to Stitch?" The alien in question perked up, looking between the two as he sucked butter off his fingers.

Jack shrugged and drained his glass. "Hopefully, he can help us help the Tok'ra find out where his homeworld is and take him back." Stitch bared his teeth and growled. "What, you don't _want_ to go home?"

Rather than dignifying that with a response, the little creature pushed away from the table and stomped out of the kitchen. "Guess not," Daniel sighed.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Jack and Danny crossed that bridge the night they went to see the radio show. My heart goes out to the families of those who perished in this tragic accident. 


	28. Chapter 28

Part 28

"And you're sure it's this way?" Jack asked again, earning Stitch's flattened-ear, tooth-baring equivalent to the classic eyeroll.

Daniel grinned, unable to believe how amusing it was to watch the alien butt heads with the colonel. They had such _dominant_ personalities, it was like having two Alpha Males in a pack and watching them battle for supremacy. The biggest trouble, he decided, was that Stitch was in many ways more like a cat than a dog: stubborn, territorial, and fiercely independent. Unfortunately, that description also perfectly suited Jack, who he was sure wouldn't appreciate being compared to a tomcat.

"Whoa," Jack suddenly breathed. "_Something_'s this way."

Peering past the colonel, Daniel gave a low whistle at the swath of newly-toppled trees that ended abruptly in a crater. Pieces of red metal were strewn across the clearing, and a thin wisp of dark smoke still rose from the hole in the ground. They'd found Stitch's crash site.

Digging into his pocket, Jack pulled out his cell phone, selected a number on speed dial, then brought the device up to his ear. "Carter," he began, "yeah, it's me. Listen, Daniel's new little friend just led us to his ship." He approached the edge of the crater. "Looks like not much of it left. I guess Stitch--er, that's the 'dog'--must have ejected or something before it crashed. Uh-huh. Unfortunately, it's not on my property, so anybody can just stumble across it. There's a twenty-foot furrow it dug up on the way _down_, so the camo net's not going to be much good for keeping casual eyes from spotting it.

"Oh, and get this: the spaceship is _red_. Cherry red. _Fire engine_ red. We're lucky nobody's spotted it from the _air_ yet. Yeah. This part of the state's a lot of farmland, so we're lucky he crashed somewhere a little less-travelled." He beckoned to Daniel, who dutifully hefted the drawstring bag containing the camouflage netting Jack had kept at the cabin because "it might come in handy some time". It was now about to serve its purpose, which had the colonel quite pleased with himself for having had the "foresight" to buy it.

While Stitch watched from a nearby tree stump, Jack and Daniel unfolded the net and began to drag it over the wrecked ship. Since he was still talking and listening to Sam, Jack was forced to contort himself strangely to keep the cell pressed between his shoulder and ear, grumbling all the while that he should have gotten a hands-free set for reasons _just like_ this.

So much for his precious "foresight", Daniel thought smugly.

Net spread, the duo stepped back to survey their work. As Daniel valiantly attempted to stifle his snickers, Jack spoke into the receiver. "Carter, get your geek squad together and get on a plane." There was a pause. "It's one of the little ones, for cryin' out loud, so we've got big piles of dirt and a fifteen-by-fifteen square of green smack-dab in the middle. It looks ridiculous."

Daniel stepped back over to the crater and lifted one corner of the net. The spaceship--or what remained of it, anyway--didn't look very big, and he wondered if they could get it into the back of Jack's truck, and... No, he and Jack had _flown_ to Minnesota and rented an SUV, instead.

"Hey, Jack?"

"What?"

"How about we just _bury_ the ship for now? I mean, it'll keep away all but the most-curious, and I doubt anybody'd will be determined enough to dig three feet for it."

Jack shrugged. "That's an _awful_ lot of dirt to move, but you might be right." He lifted the phone again. "Hey, Carter... make sure you bring shovels. Yep. See ya tomorrow."

Leaving the conspicuous-looking netting where it lay, the trio hiked back to the Jeep and returned to the cabin to get Jack's shovel and wheelbarrow. Even though Daniel knew he was too small to be of much help, he insisted on selecting a trowel and bucket to render assistance where he could. Then man, boy, and alien dog travelled back to the crash site and set to work.

The day was pleasantly warm under normal circumstances, but after an hour shovelling dirt, Daniel was hot, sweaty, and exhausted. He knew Jack had to be even _more _tired. Swiping at the sweat on his brow--unwittingly leaving behind a streak of dirt--he turned to his furry companion. "Can you help us out any, Stitch?"

Stitch stopped throwing rocks into the woods and turned around, eliciting an inquisitive grunt that might have been, "Me?"

"Yeah," Daniel answered. "The sooner we finish burying your ship, the sooner we can get back to the cabin. I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm _bored_."

Jack gave a short bark of laughter. "You're an archaeologist, Danny, I thought you _loved_ digging in the dirt."

"Sure I do... except we're _burying_ something from an advanced society, not uncovering artifacts from ancient ones. Big difference."

The colonel leaned against his shovel and shrugged. "Good point. Of course, Carter and her sciencey types get to do the honors tomorrow. You and me and Stitch are going to be elsewhere."

"Where? Are we going back to the Mountain already?"

"Nah. I just figured that since we're on vacation, we ought to... vacation. Go boating, have a picnic, something."

"Oh." To Daniel's amazement, Jack's idea actually sounded like it might be enjoyable. "Okay."

Jack started to reply, then did a double-take. "Okay? Oh... okay. Right." Swapping his surprised look for a mischievous squint, he levelled his index finger at Daniel. "But first, young man, you and I have a spaceship to bury."

Suddenly, a blue streak flew across the clearing, slamming into one of the heaps of dirt piled around the crater's edge and sending the clumpy earth flying skyward. Some of the dirt rained down on Jack and Daniel, but the majority of it ended up in a liberal streak across the scorched hull of the crashed ship. With a gleeful cackle, Stitch bounded over to the edge of the clearing and charged at another heap, blasting another earthen shower into the air.

"Is he related to Sonic the Hedgehog?" Jack gaped.

"Sonic the what?" Daniel asked.

Jack laughed, shook his head, and resumed shovelling. "I think Charlie's old Sega system is somewhere in your room. Remind me to dig it out for you later."

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Yay! Finally starting to recover a bit from my second bout of Writers' Block in recent weeks. But hey... I've been writing and posting _something_ almost weekly (and sometimes daily) since February 14th! 


	29. Chapter 29

Part 29

The joyful sounds of video game and childish laughter drowned out any other noises, and it wasn't until the second knock that Jack realized someone was at the cabin door. It was nearly dark out so he couldn't see any unknown vehicles in the driveway, but the porch light cast a single shadow across the front yard. Tugging the drapery back into place and motioning for Daniel and Stitch to stay where they were, Jack cautiously unlocked and opened the front door.

A massive figure loomed in the doorway, and it took the colonel a second to recognize Cobra Bubbles. "Officer! What brings you out here this time of night?"

"Business," came the succinct reply. "May I come in?"

"Uh, sure," Jack answered, giving Stitch a warning look. "Have a seat."

"I prefer to stand."

"What? Oh, okay. So, uh... what can I do for you?"

Bubbles--still wearing his sunglasses despite the late hour--turned his head to take in Daniel and Stitch before returning back to Jack. "Is that your SUV in the driveway?"

"Yes. Well, it's a rental, but yes."

"And were you, by chance, parked alongside the state highway near St. Francis earlier this afternoon?"

Rather than deny it--as Bubbles clearly knew whose car it had been--Jack nodded. "Yep. My kid had to take a leak and couldn't wait until we got back to the cabin." He inwardly winced when he caught a blue-eyed glare out of the corner of his eyes and fervently hoped Daniel wouldn't kill him later.

"For two hours," Bubbles remarked, making it a statement rather than a question.

"My dog got loose," Daniel added smoothly. "It took us a long time to catch him."

The conservation officer turned to regard Daniel and Stitch once again. "I see. Did you happen to notice anything unusual while pursuing your errant pet?"

"Not really, no," Jack answered, putting on just a smidgeon of the "dumb act" that drove Carter and Daniel batty. "What do you mean by 'unusual'?"

"Out of the ordinary. Not in its proper place."

Oh, Bubbles shared Teal'c's dry sense of humor, too. "_That_ clears things up... and no." He paused, then deliberately shrugged his shoulders. "Well, there was this one area where some trees had recently knocked down--remember that Danny? Kinda looked like maybe a _really_ small airplane might've crashed there or something, but nothing was there." He rolled his shoulders again. "That's about it."

"I see," the big man intoned again. "And you're certain you didn't--"

Something red flew across the room, beaning Bubbles upside the head and knocking his sunglasses off his face. The officer's head whipped around, glaring at Daniel who promptly pointed at Stitch. The down-sized archaeologist had his eyebrows raised in an expression of complete innocence.

Clenching his jaw, Bubbles bent and retrieved his sunglasses and the projectile, which turned out to be a red-covered book. The volume was firmly thrust against Jack's chest and the colonel glanced down at the title--_The Ugly Ducking_--then looked up at Daniel. Shrugging, the boy pointed at Stitch again, who beamed a toothy grin.

Bubbles straightened, cracking his neck. "Thus far, you have been adrift in the sheltered harbor of my patience, but do not tamper further in matters which are within my jurisdiction, Colonel. Do I make myself clear?"

Jack felt an eyebrow raise of its own accord. "If there's a jurisdictional issue here, I'll certainly let you know."

"And the next time I see this... dog... I expect it to be a model citizen. _Capisce?_"

"Yep," Daniel agreed.

"Jurisdiction," Bubbles iterated, jabbing the hand holding his sunglasses toward Jack. "Model citizen," he continued, aiming at Daniel. He then placed the frames on his nose a little too firmly, causing a lens to pop out and fall to the floor. "Good night, gentlemen."

Once the conservation officer had reached his truck, Jack pushed the front door shut, locked it, then turned to his houseguests. "Daniel?"

"What?"

He opened his mouth to continue the thought, but then shook his head and walked back over to the sofa. "Nevermind. Here's your book back, Stitch. Charlie didn't read it more than once or twice, I don't think, so you're welcome to keep it." The little blue alien solemnly accepted the gift, blinking his large dark eyes at Jack. He then turned and picked up the Sega game controller and offered it to Jack.

Sitting down on the sofa next to Daniel, the colonel settled the controller more comfortably in his grip and looked over at his gaming partner. "Ready to go some more, 'Tails'?" Daniel nodded, small hands clutching his own gamepad, then Jack unpaused the game and resumed his pursuit of golden rings and the evil Dr. Robotnik.

"You know," he began a moment later. "There used to be a cartoon show of this. Charlie loved it."

Daniel snorted. "I bet you did, too."

"Well, sorta... okay, maybe a little. Anyway, the cute little fox you're playing here--"

"_Kitsune_. Two tails, he's a young _kitsune_."

"Looks like a fox."

"A _kitsune_ is from Japanese mythology, a fox with up to nine tails. The more tails, the older and wiser the--"

"Got it. Okay, so this... kitfox, Tails--" Daniel heaved a martyred sigh "--is a bit of a genius. Of course, trouble always manages to find him, so Sonic has to race to the rescue. Now who does _that _sound like?"

* * *

Author's Notes:  
College starts up next week, so there may be a bit more of a slow-down for 'fic posting. Fear not: I shall not abandon thee! 


	30. Chapter 30

Part 30

Stitch's growl woke Daniel from a rather bizarre dream involving flying foxes with his own face and super-fast blue hedgehogs with faces like Jack's. It took him a little while before he realized that the growling had yet to cease, and that the blue alien was glaring suspiciously in the direction of the bedroom door. Sitting up in bed and rubbing at his sleep-filled eyes, Daniel looked toward the object of Stitch's ire and blinked.

"Oh, go on, Carter. Daniel only growls at the people he likes," came a familiar voice from the other side of the cracked-open door.

"Funny, sir, but I don't think that's Daniel doing the growling," answered Sam.

Daniel sighed. "It's okay, Stitch, it's just Sam. She's a friend of mine." Stitch held up two fingers. "Two people? Oh, well the other might be Teal'c. He's another friend." The blue alien shook his head and lowered only one of his fingers, still softly growling. "I don't know, I'll have to look and see who else it is." He cleared his throat. "Come on in, Sam!"

The door pushed further inward, then a familiar blond head entered the room. "Hey, Daniel!"

The blue alien stopped growling and crawled up on the bed, placing himself between the linguist and the major. Daniel couldn't help but smile at the protective stance. "Stitch, this is Major Samantha Carter, one of my teammates and a very good friend. Sam, this is... well, I don't actually know his real name, but he seems to be fine with us calling him 'Stitch'."

Sam pushed the door open wider, revealing Teal'c looming over her shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Stitch."

The blue alien's ears perked up, a softer growl issuing from his throat. It actually sounded more like the purring noise he'd made the night before, and Daniel snorted. "I think he likes you, Sam."

Stitch nodded vigorously, then he tapped Daniel's foot, pointed at Teal'c and held up two clawed fingers, an inquisitive look on his face. It took a long moment, but then the alien's meaning clicked into place. "Oh! That's Teal'c. He's not human; he's a Jaffa, which means that he carries a larval Goa'uld--um, another alien race--in a pouch in his abdomen. Teal'c's my friend and teammate, too, but Junior--uh, that's what Jack calls the Goa'uld--isn't really. But Teal'c wouldn't be able to live without him, so we put up with him."

The furry creature nodded, turned around, and hissed at Teal'c's belly, then looked up and locked eyes with the Jaffa. Finally, Teal'c dipped his head in a stately bow. "Greetings, Stitch."

"He can sense the presence of a Goa'uld?" Sam asked, amazed.

Daniel kicked off his covers and curled his legs under him. "I guess so, but we hadn't met any Goa'uld yet to test it out." He turned to regard Stitch, who had grabbed his blunt nose with one hand and tugged an ear with the other. "Actually, he says he can smell it... _and_ hear it."

Sam blinked. "Wow."

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed. "Such a skill would be very useful to the SGC."

He hadn't considered that! "Stitch, what Teal'c means is that _maybe_ you could come to work with me. Teal'c is one of two people employed by the SGC--that's Stargate Command--full-time who _isn't_ from Earth. You'll have to give it some thought, of course, but I think you'd like getting to explore other planets."

The furry blue alien sat back on his haunches, a contemplative look on his face. Just then, Jack appeared in the door, peering around at the room's occupants while keeping one arm behind his back. "Okay, kids, party's over. Carter and Teal'c get to go dig in the dirt today and the archaeologist and I get to go run a few experiments!"

"Experiments?" Sam asked.

"How many hours can we picnic before being overrun by ants? Can or can't Daniel and Stitch play baseball? These and other pressing questions are the subjects of today's scientific and cultural experiments." He whipped out the flat cardboard box he'd been concealing behind his back. "Like why UPS just delivered a package from Barnes & Noble."

"It's a research book," Daniel answered, holding out his hands for the box.

"It's not as massive as your usual ones," the colonel noted, turning it in his hand and examining it from all angles.

"It's not my usual kind of research," he pointed out, waggling his fingers. "Give."

Jack hesitated. "I don't know... Knowing you, you'll stick your head into this book and won't come out for a few hours. Then where will our experiments be?"

"It's not that big of a book!" Daniel protested. "Give!"

His friend waved it out to the side. "He wants it bad, Carter. Think I should give it to him? Teal'c?"

Sam looked mildly stunned, as though surprised at the silly game being played. Daniel had to admit, such behavior hadn't been common in recent years, but it seemed good things were coming of his having been turned into a kid. Teal'c was as unflappable as always, but Daniel thought he detected a hint of approval in the Jaffa's eyes.

Stitch, however, was ready to put an end to the teasing. He bounced off the bed, climbed up the door frame, and snatched the package out of Jack's surprised hand. Bounding back to Daniel's side, he triumphantly displayed his prize and made a mocking "bleh!" noise at the colonel.

"Show off," Jack muttered, then pointed at Daniel. "You: get dressed." His index finger waggled between Sam and Teal'c. "You and you: living room. There's a Minnesota Department of Natural Resources guy you two need to keep an eye out for today. His name's Officer Bubbles, but he looks like he could be Teal'c's brother..."

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Whew! Busy first week of college... busier than I anticipated! I guess we'll be looking at only a section a week for a while... 


	31. Chapter 31

Part 31

After the last peanut butter and jelly sandwich had been devoured and handfuls of crispy ginger snap cookies consumed, Daniel finally decided to reveal the big secret of his online book purchase. Producing the flat box, he grasped one of the cardboard tags and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

Despite knowing he'd soon end up the subject of a pint-sized pipsqueak's ire, Jack couldn't help but laugh at Daniel's efforts. The tiny linguist was exerting himself, but the package stubbornly refused to open. The box was dropped, skinny arms crossed, and Jack suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a glare. "It's not funny."

"It is from where _I'm_ sitting," he grinned. "Let me do it."

Setting his jaw, Daniel started to hand the package to Stitch, but Jack reached in an intercepted it. "Jack!"

"No offense to Stitch," Jack began, examining the box, "but I don't think you want claw-marks in your book."

The cardboard package was sealed with some kind of adhesive, but there were tabs on opposite ends that Jack reasoned functioned much like those on a cake mix box. No perforations were present, though, so he guessed there were threads beneath the cardboard to facilitate in tearing tab-to-tab to open it. Grasping the one Daniel had tugged on between his thumb and knuckle of his forefinger, he began to pull. "Charlie loved pickles," he began.

Daniel's eyebrows raised at the non sequitur. "What?"

"He loved pickles," Jack repeated, ripping the rest of the thread away and presenting the box back to Daniel without peeking in it. "One time when he was about your a--I mean about four or five, he got the jar of dill pickles out of the fridge and sat down on the kitchen floor to try to open it." He smiled at the memory. "He looked about like you did just now: red-faced, grunting, and straining for all he was worth, but he just couldn't get the jar to open."

"So you opened it for him?"

"Nope. I tried, though, but the darn thing just wouldn't open. Then Sara came in, saw us staring at the pickle jar, grabbed a washcloth, and popped the lid right off. Made it look so easy, Charlie and I couldn't look her in the eye for hours."

Daniel laughed, and the sound warmed Jack's heart even more. "My parents never had anything out of jars, it was always cans, boxes, and barrels. Of course, most of the time it was one of the worker's wives who did the cooking, so maybe there were a few jars."

"Well, trust me on this, Danny: women always need a man's help to open a jar. He won't be able to open it himself, but when he hands it back, she'll get it open in seconds. It's a universal constant!"

The boy grinned and rolled his eyes. "Don't let Sam hear you say that."

"What? Oh, yeah. Good idea." He rubbed his hands together. "So... what's in the box?"

Stitch leaned over Daniel's knee to watch as the box was carefully tipped upside-down and its contents spilled out onto the tattered blanket being used as a picnic cloth. Jack felt his eyebrows make a mad dash for his hairline when he spotted the unmistakeable shape of the state of Minnesota shaded in red against a yellow background. "Well, _that's_ different," he began. "Not your usual type at all."

Beaming, Daniel lifted the book and held it at arm's length so they could all read the title. "_How to Talk Minnesotan_," he declared. "You said I should study your culture."

"Well, _yeah_, but..." Jack rolled his eyes. "All right, lay it on me. We'll see how accurate this thing is."

He settled back against the cooler as Daniel opened the book and began thumbing through pages. The grin returned anew. "Lesson 1," he read, "Getting Started in Minnesotan: Handy Words and Phrases. 'You bet', 'that's different', and 'whatever'."

"Yowch," Jack winced. "Nailed me."

Daniel flipped to about halfway through the book, then burst out laughing. "Lesson 10: Oh, For and Heckuva Deal."

"Oh, boy."

"The _oh, for_ construction is used mostly by women to describe a person, thing, or animal, including oneself." He paused. "Well, that explains Madison's 'oh, fer cute' exclamation the other day." He shook his head and pressed onward. "For example, if a kitten climbs onto somebody's shoe, you would say _Oh, for cute_." Daniel rolled his eyes. "Do I _look_ like a kitten?"

"A shaggy, stray one," Jack answered with a straight face.

"Funny." He cleared his throat. "_Oh, for darling_... _oh, for sweet_. _Oh, for dumb_. _Oh, for nice_. Oh, for what gives?"

"Not quite, but you're getting there."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "_Oh, for yucky... oh, for embarrassing... oh, for dirty_..." His lips curved upward. "Men do not use the _oh, for _phrase in the same way. If the mechanic at the garage shows you the grease all over the brake shoes, it would be a big mistake for a man to say 'oh, for dirty'. On the other hand, both men and women in Minnesota will say, 'oh, for crying out loud!'"

"Crap, that book's good! How'd you hear about it?"

"At the radio show the other night," Daniel answered, interestedly looking ahead for more of Jack's trademark phrases. "Cat Sailing Days?" Jack grinned enigmatically. "Tell me that's not a real event."

"Want to go on the lake in a rowboat? You can read while I row."

Daniel's eyes narrowed at the deliberate change of subject, but then his lips twisted in a small smile. "You bet."


	32. Chapter 32

Good thing my hotel room has free wireless or you'd have to wait until tomorrow night!

* * *

Part 32

There were a thousand mighty forces in the galaxy, and the being currently allowing himself to be called Stitch counted himself among the most ferocious. He was nearly indestructible, incredibly strong, astonishingly fast, and was an instrument of destruction from the tips of his ears to each of his claw-tipped toes. There was one thing and one thing alone that gave him pause: water.

The humans seemed to love the stuff, discussing all manner of activities that could be performed on, in, or around water. Jack, the adult, was especially enamored of "fishing", a so-called sport he had participated in even at the small pond located behind their current residence. Stitch saw no "sport" in the activity, but perhaps there was something he was missing.

After eating and successfully opening Daniel's parcel--which contained, to Stitch's interest, a new book--the man and boy rented a rowboat from the lake's small fleet and set out across the water. They invited Stitch to participate, but he declined, leery of the water. To his disappointment, the pair seemed to be enjoying themselves out on the lake. It wasn't that Stitch begrudged them their fun, but rather that he wasn't _participating_ in it. He'd even dunked his feet into the water at the edge of the lake to see if maybe there was something different about the water on this particular planet, but it felt the same to him. So he sat on the shore and pitched twigs into the water, feeling a little put out, and trying to figure out _why_ he felt the way he did.

The chief reason, it seemed, was the little boy named Daniel Jackson. Stitch was normally very happy to carry out his genetically-driven destructive urges, but one flash of disapproval from those knowing blue eyes left the genetic experiment feeling remorseful and guilty over things he'd only _thought_ of doing. He'd never cared what anyone thought of him before, but now Stitch found himself making efforts to keep Daniel happy, safe, and Stitch's... friend.

Stitch had never had a friend before, either. He liked it.

Because Daniel seemed to want to stay in the good graces of the human named Jack, the genetic experiment did his best to win Jack's approval, too. Success was difficult to measure, since Jack seemed to regard him with suspicion. Stitch couldn't tell if the terms "mangy mutant koala" and "deranged blue furball" were disparagements or endearments. He supposed it didn't help his case any that he always sided with Daniel against the older human.

Now that he saw how much fun Daniel was having with Jack out on the lake, it made Stitch regret having declined their invitation to join them. If he had to put a name on what he was feeling, then it was "jealousy". Jack shared a bond with Daniel that Stitch could never match, no doubt due in part to his status as one of Daniel's beloved "team". His family.

Stitch had never had a family. He wanted one.

Before long, Jack and Daniel were rowing back to shore to return the boat, removing Stitch's chance to see what was so enjoyable about sitting in a floating wooden box. Heaving a sigh, he trod over to the dock to wait for them, gazing out at the far shore longingly.

"Hey, Jack," Daniel began as the boat gently bumped the pier, "I think Stitch wants to go out on the lake with us."

Stitch's ears came up, and he turned to look at the little boy who seemed to be able to read his mind. Daniel had explained that he wasn't _really_ a child, just in a child's body, and it was times like this when his true age showed. After all, how could someone so young be so knowing?

"I suppose we can go back out for a few more minutes," Jack agreed. "Hop in, Furball."

Before he could change his mind, Stitch turned around and dug his front claws into the wooden surface of the dock, swinging his hind legs over the edge. He was still working up the courage to let go and hope he landed in the boat when there suddenly were hands under his arms, lifting him slightly. Surprised, he released his hold on the dock and was soon settled into the bottom of the boat.

Taking his seat once again, Jack grabbed the oars and pushed away from the dock. Startled by the sudden rocking motion, Stitch grabbed the edge of the seat. Finally, as he grew more accustomed to the strange movement, he crawled up onto the seat next to Daniel and peered over the side of the boat.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Daniel grinned, then pointed to the distant dock so Stitch could see how far they'd travelled already.

The extremely knowledgeable man-child then began to rattle on about different kinds of boats used by various human civilizations in the thousands of years recorded history. He even explained that the event called "cat sailing" had nothing to do with the throwing of felines flattened into disc-like shapes called "Frisbees"--as the author of Daniel's book had suggested--but rather using large triangles of cloth to catch air currents and propel a type of boat called a "catamaran". Stitch had thought the first sounded more fun, but now that he was out on the open water, he was pretty sure he'd like the _real_ cat sailing, too.

"You kids want to try the oars?" Jack asked.

Daniel looked up from where he'd been carefully stretched over the prow of the boat, letting his fingers trail in the water. "'Try' being the operative word, not 'you kids take the oars so I don't have to'?"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes."

Jack chuckled. "Okay, 'try' as in 'you don't have to row any longer than you want'."

"Sure!"

After much careful manuevering, Jack and Daniel switched seats and Stitch was encouraged to sit next to Daniel. Jack them how far they needed to move the oars to be able to dip them in and out of the water effectively, though Stitch found he needed to stand on the bench to be able to reach high enough. It didn't take long to match rhythms, but since Stitch was so much stronger than the skinny kid, they began to go in circles.

Jack laughed and shooed Daniel out of the way, taking up the other oar and matching Stitch's pace. Soon, they were back on course and moving briskly back toward the dock.

"We make a good team, Stitch," Jack announced unexpectedly.

Team?

Suddenly, the boat shook and rolled over, and the last thing Stitch saw as the water closed over his head was the surprised expression on Daniel's face.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Evil place to leave you for the week, isn't it? 


	33. Chapter 33

Part 33

Grunting with the effort, Dr. Jumba Jookiba climbed into a slender tree, the springy trunk bending under his weight as he pursued a higher vantage point. The natives of this planet had a reliance on motorized vehicles that had made following them difficult, but they were no match for an Evil Genius.

He and his irritating tag-along, Agent Pleakley, had arrived in time to witness the genetic experiment participating in a recreational activity involving a ball, a stick, and a pair of thick, over-sized gloves. The older native had praised his presumed offspring everytime the ball was successfully ensnared in the glove, and later, when the stick met the ball's thrown trajectory. The experiment had been active in the game, too, retrieving the ball when it got away from the youngster or was hit too far for the adult to catch.

As though the uncompetitive activity hadn't been unnatural enough for a being created for its destructive capability, Experiment Six-Two-Six's participation in the small family's picnic lunch had been completely abnormal. Six-Two-Six was not designed for domesticity, yet he'd been quiet and polite as he consumed his share of the meal.

Then the natives had left the experiment alone on shore while they headed out onto the nearby lake in a wooden watercraft. It would have been the perfect opportunity to retrieve the recalcitrant runaway without disturbing the supposedly fragile natives of the world, but Jumba had drawn up short, watching Six-Two-Six watch the natives.

Never had he seen his creation exhibit any emotion not related to maniacal glee or malicious calculation, yet Jumba had immediately interpreted the look on Six-Two-Six's furry face as wistful. Longing, even, with perhaps a touch of sadness or regret. None of these emotions belonged to a walking weapon of mass chaos.

Behind him, Jumba heard Agent Pleakley accessing an electronic device. When a muffled feminine voice drifted to Jumba's ears, he realized it was a communicator. "Oh, can't complain, Mom, I'm camping out with a convicted criminal and, uh... oh, I nearly got eaten by a swarm of blood-sucking insects!"

Grimacing at the screechy voice of his companion, Jumba dug into his bag and pulled out his quadoculars. As many surprises as he'd had today, Jumba still found himself rendered nearly speechless by what Six-Two-Six did next. He walked to the edge of the dock, and with some assistance from the adult native, settled into the bottom of the boat.

"Six-Two-Six is returning willingly to water?" he wondered aloud.

The D.U.M.B. agent's communicator beeped. "Oh, hold on, Mom--another call." There was another beep than a panicked yelp.

Jumba ignored him, watching as Six-Two-Six became gradually less fearful of the water and began to take an interest in his surroundings. The younger native seemed to be encouraging Six-Two-Six to look around, chattering rapidly. Jumba couldn't hear a word the youngling said, but from the looks of interest on his face and that of his presumed parent, it was informative and entertaining.

"Mr. Pleakley, you are overdue. I want a status report," demanded the Grand Councilwoman, voice made tinny by the puny communicator.

"Oh, uh, things are going well," Pleakley hedged.

"He cannot swim," Jumba muttered to himself, pulling the quadoculars from his face and stroking his face contemplatively. Six-Two-Six possessed a molecular density far greater than his surface area. He couldn't possibly hope to stay afloat even in heavily salinated water, let alone in the fresh water present in this part of the planet.

"Things are going well. Jumba, aren't they going well?"

No, they _weren't_. Much of Jumba's initial capture strategy for the escaped experiment relied on his knowledge of Six-Two-Six's ingrained behavior. Now that the creature was beginning to react uncharacteristically, Jumba found himself wondering if he'd underestimated his own creation's adaptability.

"Why will he risk drowning?" he asked himself. What possible gain could Six-Two-Six reap from risking himself in such a manner? There seemed to be no tangible gain evident from joining the natives in their primitive craft, yet Six-Two-Six had deliberately gone against his instincts.

"Jumba?" Pleakley squawked, then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Jumba, help me out here."

The Grand Councilwoman sounded unimpressed. "I would have expected you back by now, with Six-Two-Six in hand."

"Just a few things left to pack and, uh, we'll be..."

"Hang up." Tucking his quadoculars away, Jumba turned around and shut the communicator himself, cutting off Pleakley's attempts to convince the stately stateswoman of the integrity of their plans. "We are going swimming."

Swinging his legs over the edge of the tree, Jumba dropped to the ground, grinning to himself as the bent trunk snapped upright when he let go, sending the still-sitting Pleakley flying with a wail. His smile soon faded as he looked out at the lake and saw Six-Two-Six switching places with the adult, assisting the young native in wielding the boat's ungainly propulsion system.

Six-Two-Six was designed to avoid water. He was programmed for solitary destruction. Somehow, all his genetic predispositions were becoming unravelled, changing his purpose. He was becoming unpredictable, which made him even more dangerous than ever before.

Moments later, Jumba and Pleakley were in the water and beneath the boat. Before he could talk himself out of his intentions, Jumba grasped the hull and heaved mightily, spilling the boat's passengers into the chilly water.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Rest assured, there is more coming... and soon! I have the next part almost finished... 


	34. Chapter 34

Part 34

Jack surfaced and spluttered. Swiping the water out of his eyes, he looked around frantically. "Daniel!"

Just as he was beginning to panic, a familiar dark blond head emerged from the water, and Daniel gasped for air. "What happened?"

Swimming over to help Daniel tread water, Jack spotted the life jackets that had once been stacked in the back of the rowboat. "Not a clue. We either got unbalanced somehow or hit something. You okay?"

Daniel nodded, swiping at the hair plastered to his forehead. "Yeah. Where's Stitch?"

The colonel's outstretched fingers had just brushed the personal flotation device bobbing nearby when he heard a splash and a snarl. Spinning about as quickly as he could in the deep water, Jack turned in time to see the blue alien claw his way above water. He reached out and grabbed Daniel for support, but the little boy couldn't possibly keep them both afloat.

"Get off him!" Jack shouted, trying to shake Stitch loose, but boy and alien dog sank like a stack of bricks.

Taking a deep breath, the colonel dove underwater, chasing the flailing figure that was Daniel toward the murky depths of the lake's bottom. The speed with which the duo sank was incredible, even owing for the surprising weight of the blue creature. Jack's fear and desperation drove him faster, and he soon caught Daniel by the hand and began to swim upward, lungs aching for air.

The down-sized archaeologist was already choking and struggling, jerking spasmodically against Jack's grip. Knowing the decision would anger Daniel but prefering an irate linguist to a dead one, Jack lashed out with his left leg, dislodging Stitch's grip on the boy's other hand. Now free of the extra weight, they broke the surface of the water, sucking in lungfuls of precious air and coughing up the lake water they'd inadvertently swallowed.

"Hey, you boys all right?" shouted an unfamiliar voice. Jack looked up to see the dock operator gazing at them anxiously from the edge of the floating pier.

"We lost Stitch!" Daniel gasped, looking at Jack with frightened blue eyes.

"Who?" the guy yelled.

Jack growled. "The friggin'... dog."

"Jack, you have to--" Daniel began.

"No, Daniel, I do _not_ have to--"

The water-logged archaeologist made a tiny fist and slammed Jack's shoulder with it. "Yes, you do!"

"Daniel!"

"Jack!"

Muttering some rather unpleasant things under his breath, the colonel tucked Daniel under his arm and stroked strongly for the dock, holding the protesting boy up for the operator to grab. "Watch him!" he ordered before turning back toward the capsized boat. Reaching the innocently bobbing PFD, he grabbed it, took a few deep breaths, and plunged beneath the surface again.

The creature didn't seem to be as deep as before, despite the time that had elapsed since Jack had kicked him free of Daniel. He wasn't struggling, either, and Jack briefly wondered if it was already too late. Daniel wouldn't be satisfied with that, though, so Jack wrapped the vest around the alien's body, snapped one of the buckles shut, and surged for the surface, trailing the vest and blue creature behind him.

Daniel had apparently refused to budge from the edge of the dock, so the owner had retrieved an old blanket from somewhere and thrown it around his shivering shoulders. The trembling lips were blue with cold, but it was no surprise that the first words out of his chattering teeth were concern for his latest moral reclamation project.

"How's Stitch?"

"He's unconscious," Jack panted, "but I think he's alive." With the help of the dock master, he swung the heavy creature onto the wooden surface, then hauled himself onto the platform.

Just as Daniel crawled over to inspect the bedraggled creature, Stitch choked, coughed, and came up snarling and flailing, ripping long gashes in the life jacket as he tore it off. Surprised, Daniel toppled backward and would have fallen into the water again had Jack not managed to steady him.

Opening his mouth to shout, Jack stopped abruptly when he realized he still had an audience. Looking up at the dock owner, he glanced back at the over-turned boat meaningfully. "Should I retrieve that, or--"

"I'll get it," the man answered, reaching out to twitch the falling blanket back over Daniel's shoulders. "You go get this munchkin warm and dry. Keep the blanket." As he stepped down into one of the other rowboats, he leaned close to Jack and muttered, "Shoot the dog."

Jack glared at Stitch. It was awfully tempting.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Ta-da! Two for one weekend... how's that? 

What's that? More?! Sheesh, you're demanding...


	35. Chapter 35

Evil, evil week! I had three tests and an English paper... //shudders//

Here's the next part, which wraps up one major part of the storyline so I can begin wrapping up the rest.

* * *

Part 35

The ride back to the cabin was made in silence, as Jack was busy convincing himself to resist the almost-overwhelming urge to stop the car and reach into the back seat to strangle the blue alien sitting dejectedly next to a shivering Daniel. With the heater on full-blast, it didn't take long to warm the Jeep's occupants on the outside, but Jack felt an internal cold that wouldn't go away so easily. Daniel had nearly drowned, and it was all Stitch's fault.

Daniel was a strong swimmer at any size, having once admitted when Jack asked that a foster parent took him to lessons after it was learned he'd been born and reared in the desert. He took to it like... well, the proverbial duck to water, and Jack was secretly proud that Daniel was a better swimmer than anyone else on the team, including Teal'c. His aquatic abilities hadn't appeared to have been changed any by his shrinking to child-size, but that mangy mutt-of-an-alien, Stitch, was apparently unable to swim at all. When the boat had capsized, Stitch had latched onto and pulled the down-sized linguist underwater.

Of course, the cause of the boat's sudden upset was a bit of a mystery, too. Jack recalled a sudden lurch, as though one of the boat's occupants had shifted his weight hard to one side, but he didn't remember seeing Daniel move, and Stitch had been seated on the bench next to Jack. It was possible they'd hit something underwater, but Jack hadn't seen anything down below when rescuing Daniel _or_ Stitch.

It was a mystery that was going to have to remain unsolved. For now, he just wanted to get Daniel back to the cabin and into some clean, dry clothes before he got sick. As for Stitch, there were two options: either the alien could agree to return to his homeworld--with or without the assistance of the Tok'ra--or he could stay on Earth and become a guinea pig for Area 51 and the NID. Even as angry as he was with the little monster, Jack hoped Stitch would see reason and agree to the first. No one deserved the NID.

"Stop glaring, Jack," Daniel griped, "it wasn't Stitch's fault."

The colonel gritted his teeth, clutching the steering wheel tightly as he drove slowly down the gravel lane leading back to the cabin. "Wasn't his fault?" he echoed.

"He didn't tip the boat over," Daniel replied, drawing the ratty blanket tighter around his shoulders, gaze sliding away from the rearview mirror and undoubtedly landing on the furry mutant. "It took a lot of guts for him to join us out on the lake when he was scared of water."

Jack pressed the brakes a little harder than he meant to, and the Jeep slid a little in the gravel before stopping. "Scared of water?" he demanded, turning around in his seat after throwing the gear shift into park. "He hadn't the first clue how to swim, Daniel! He shouldn't have asked to go out there in the first place--at least without _somehow_ letting us know he couldn't swim. That mistake nearly _killed_ you!"

Daniel's jaw took on the familiar stubborn set so often seen on the grown-up version. "As I recall, _Jack_, he didn't ask to go out there. _I_ asked him. Actually, I saw him sitting at the edge of the dock and _assumed_ that's what he wanted, and he agreed. You agreed, too, and you even helped him get in the boat!"

"An action I regretted the very moment he tried to drown you," Jack snapped, casting another sharp look at Stitch. To his momentary surprise, the normally unflappable alien cringed.

"He didn't mean to drown me, Jack, he just panicked!"

"Panic that could have been avoided if he'd let us know he couldn't swim so we could put one of the life jackets on him. He messed up, big time."

"Right. And how many times have I messed up in the field?"

"It's not the same thing, Daniel."

"Of course it is!" he shouted. "He'll know better next time."

Jack shook his head and turned around to open the car door. "There won't _be_ a next time."

Daniel fumbled with his car seat straps before sliding across to open one of the back doors. "What, you're going to shoot him like you did Reese?"

"_What?_"

"She didn't mean to hurt anyone either, but rather than letting me help her, you--"

Throwing his hands in the air, Jack stomped over to the front door of the cabin and unlocked it. "It's not the same thing and you know it! And no, for your information, I _wasn't_ planning to shoot Stitch... he's going away. Far, far away."

"Oh, and you planning to do the same thing with me, then?"

"Huh?"

Although the blanket muffled the shape, it was obvious the irate archaeologist had crossed his arms in his most protective self-hug. "I overheard you talking to General Hammond Sunday morning. You said you didn't trust me. You couldn't _wait_ to foist me off on someone else. All this week, I thought the general had managed to convince you to give me a chance, that maybe you and I were finally starting to find some common ground. That wasn't the case at all, was it?"

Jack gaped. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"I _heard_ you, Jack!" Daniel shouted, though his outward vehemence was offset by the way he'd seemed to shrink inside his skin even further, shoulders hunched defensively. "You don't even want to give me or Stitch either one a chance, do you? Just going to kick him through the Stargate and leave me with a foster family until I'm big enough to be useful again?"

His teeth clicked shut. "Daniel," he began, biting off each word angrily, "what are you _talking_ about?"

A visible shudder rattled the small body, eyes screwing shut against a face suddenly pale. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

Jack started to open his mouth to reply, but then noticed he still had an audience in the form of a dark-eyed blue alien. Rather than wasting the breath to argue, Jack stalked across the front yard and scooped Daniel up, elicting a choking gasp. Ignoring the noise, he entered the cabin, kicked the door shut, and firmly placed the tiny linguist on the sofa.

"Look at me, Daniel." Tear tracks were beginning to creep down the boy's cheeks, and though he tried to turn away from Jack, the colonel caught him by the chin and refused to let him hide. "Open your eyes and look at me," Jack ordered again. "Is this what you've been bottling up inside all week?"

Swiping at his face with a corner of the blanket, Daniel looked away and nodded shakily. "I know I can't go through the 'Gate anymore, Jack, but I can still translate stuff. I can still help the SGC. Don't leave me here, _please_."

Closing his eyes wearily, it wasn't difficult for Jack to ignore the little voice that reminded him Daniel was a grown man who had issues with people getting into his personal space. Turning around, he sat down on the couch and pulled the blanketed bundle into his lap. With his arms wrapped around Daniel so he couldn't escape even if he wanted to, Jack pressed his cheek against the shaggy dark blond head rested on his chest.

"Daniel, I'm pretty sure what you overheard was me talking to Hammond... about Jonas."

"Jonas?"

"Jonas Quinn, the Kelownan geek who stood by while you got shrimped," Jack clarified. "Turns out he defected to Earth, and even though I don't trust him after what happened to you, I _suppose_ he can stick around for a while until we can find another planet that'll take him or find him a job here."

Daniel was quiet for a long moment, then let out a shuddery breath. "I've been an idiot, haven't I?"

"No more than usual," Jack replied, giving him an affectionate squeeze. "It's been a rough day. Heck, it's been a rough _week_. You've been down-sized, displaced, and drowned, all in a short amount of time. And no matter how much of a pain in the butt you can be, I have _never_ wanted to get rid of you--big or little."

"Oh," the little archaeologist breathed, looking up at Jack with an expression of tremendous relief. "Then why did we come to Minnesota, then?"

"Would you believe for a vacation?" When Daniel's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Jack let his head fall against the back of the couch briefly. "No? Crap." He tipped his head forward and rubbed at his nape. "Right. So the NID found about what happened to you--no way they couldn't, not since it had to go in the medical reports--and started making noises about getting you transferred to Area 51."

Now Daniel simply looked annoyed. "I don't think so."

Jack chuckled, and unable to resist, gave Daniel another quick hug. "Neither did me or Hammond, so we cooked up a quick plan to get you away from the Mountain while Hammond worked with the President to get the NID to back down. Then, if for whatever dumb reason the NID thought they could just grab you and take off, well, they'd have to come to Minnesota to do it."

"Wouldn't it have been safer in the Mountain?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But Doc Fraiser's the one who insisted you needed some fresh air, sunshine, and exercise. You hadn't been taking care of yourself before, you know."

The little boy flushed with embarrasment, and Jack ruffled his hair playfully. "Jack..."

"What?"

"I'm sitting on your _lap_."

Jack shrugged. "So?"

Daniel blinked. "Well, the adult part of me says this is really weird. The kid part..."

"What?"

"...Just wants another hug," he admitted shyly.

"Smart kid," Jack grinned, and complied.

TBC


	36. Chapter 36

Part 36 

Cut off from the inside of the house, Stitch moved to the edge of the dock and sat with his feet dangling over the water, eyeing the small rowboat tied nearby. He didn't understand the people who lived on this strange planet or the way they reacted to him, but he especially didn't understand his _own_ reactions. When he was playing with the adult Jack and the not-child Daniel, he had felt an emotion he was quite certain he'd never before experienced: happiness. Contentment, too, now that he looked back on it.

All that was gone, and it was his fault. When the boat tipped over, he'd panicked, flailing for the first thing he could reach and holding on for dear life. Unfortunately, the nearest object happened to be Daniel, but the pair couldn't remain afloat long. Just as suddenly, something grabbed Stitch's ankle and yanked, pulling boy and alien underwater.

Stitch didn't remember much of what happened after, but he did remember seeing his creator, Jumba, looming out of the murky depths of the lake. He also remembered Jack kicking him, making him let go of Daniel, then swimming away. Then Jumba and another figure were back, and Stitch desperately tried to fight them off, to give Jack and Daniel time to complete their escape. He _thought_ he bit through and punctured an air tank which sent the assailants flying, but maybe that was only wishful thinking.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up on the wooden platform next to the lake, spitting water and still trying to fight off Jumba. The look of shock on Daniel's face compounded with the barely-suppressed rage on Jack's, told Stitch in terms he _could_ understand that he had done something wrong and wasn't _about _to be forgiven for it.

Behind him came the sound of an approaching car, then doors began to open and shut as the beings Daniel had introduced as the rest of his team--his _family_--arrived at the cabin and announced their success in retrieving the wrecked red police cruiser. They were invited into the dwelling, and though Stitch's sensitive ears could easily have picked up their conversation through the building's walls, he chose to tune out the voices. He didn't need to hear Jack recite the litany of his errors to the rest of Daniel's family.

A new noise caught Stitch's ears, and he turned around in time to watch a pair of mottled brown creatures waddle out of the undergrowth toward the pond. After assessing the scenery, one of the small beings made another strange noise. Several more, smaller versions of the adults raced out of the woods and followed their parent into the water. The color was different, but to Stitch's eyes, it was obvious this was a family of ducks.

Everyone but Stitch, it seemed, had a family. By hurting Daniel, even accidentally, Stitch was sure he'd ruined any chance he might have had at making Daniel's family his own. There was nothing left for him here. He should leave now, before he inadvertently harmed the little boy he'd come to--

The cabin door opened again, and the blonde woman and dark-skinned man emerged, bidding Jack farewell, promising to come by again tomorrow. Jack attempted to cajole them into spending the night at his dwelling, but the pretty lady declined, expressing her belief that Daniel didn't feel "up" to company right now.

Minutes later, as the vehicle disappeared into the trees, Jack suddenly cleared his throat. "Stitch! Get inside before it gets dark."

Head drooping and ears lowered, Stitch stood and crossed the front lawn and crawled onto the porch. Before he could drag himself into the building, though, Jack crouched down and placed a hand on his chest, stopping his forward motion.

"Look," he began, grimacing. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. What happened wasn't your fault, but so many bad things have happened to Daniel, I'm... scared of losing him... again. When I get scared, I get mad, and you happened to be the nearest target."

Stitch's ears lifted slightly, understanding the words for an attempt at an apology. But the next words sent his spirits right back to the bottom.

"But if you ever, _ever_ deliberately hurt him," Jack continued, staring at Stitch intently, "there will be no hole in this galaxy deep enough to hide from me. Are we clear?"

Guiltily, Stitch nodded and slunk into the cabin. Padding down the hall, he opened the door to Daniel's room and quickly stepped inside, pulling the door shut.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Number 37 should be along by Monday or Tuesday, 'opefully. 


	37. Chapter 37

Part 37

The little boy was sprawled across his bed, a pen held in his hand. Carefully, Stitch pulled himself atop the covers and sat down, mind racing to come up with a way to convey his intentions. As his eyes lowered to the bedspread, he suddenly realized that Daniel was not only writing in the leather-bound book he'd told Stitch not to touch, but had spread three of the objects known as "photos" across the cotton-covered surface. Blinking, he reached out one furry paw, then paused, hesitant to touch.

Daniel picked up the picture and smiled, scooting up on one elbow and turning the sheet so that he and Stitch could both see it. "This is me and my team, before the accident," he explained, then began to point to people. "There's Jack, and Sam, and Teal'c, and this is Janet, who's a doctor. This is her daughter, Cassie, who's from another planet, like you. And that's General Hammond, leader of our base. That's me in the middle, the one with the glasses."

Stitch peered at the brown-haired figure, then looked at the dark blonde Daniel, noting the resemblance. Unfortunately, if this picture was any indication, Daniel would one day be almost as tall as Jack. If he wasn't close to Stitch's height any more, would he no longer have any use for him? Quickly setting the picture down as though he could rid himself of the thought, the blue alien looked to the next picture.

"This was my wife, Sha're." Daniel gave a sad smile. "She's been dead for more than two years, now, and I still miss her. I can't _imagine_ how awkward it would be if she was still alive when I got turned into a little kid, can you?"

Stitch shook his head.

The last picture was lifted, revealing the recognizable face of a smiling young Daniel, but instead of being surrounded by his team, he was carried on the hip of a dark-haired man in glasses, and being hugged by a small bespectacled lady with hair and eyes the same shades as the little boy's. "These were my parents," Daniel explained, finger carefully tracing over the arms encircling his photographic counterpart's torso. "They died when I was little... the first time."

Sitting up, Daniel dropped the picture back onto the bed and swiped at his eyes. "You don't have a family, do you, Stitch?" he asked abruptly. "Did you lose them like I did?" He crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his chin to his breastbone, and Stitch took that moment to quietly slide off the bed and lift the covers of his own little bed, seeking his one and only possession.

"I know that's why you wreck things and push me even though you don't really mean to hurt me," Daniel continued. "After my parents died, and after I got over the shock of it happening, I was mad at the world, at everyone and everything. I started destroying stuff and hitting people, and if I hadn't found a way to let go of my anger, I might eventually have started hurting myself. But you know what I found to do instead, Stitch? I wrote in my journal, and I read books. _Lots_ of books."

Startled, Stitch paused, the book about the Ugly Duckling tucked under one arm. He turned to look at Daniel, who continued, "I started reading books all the time, and suddenly I could live in someone _else's_ world, not the one I hated so much. One day, though several months later, I was ready to face the real world again."

"I finally found a family again, Stitch: my team and our friends. Maybe they're not a _real_ family, but they're real enough to me." Peering through damp eyelashes, Daniel studied Stitch. "You could still be a part of it, if you want."

A sudden lump found its way to Stitch's throat, and he had to swallow hard to force it down. Walking over to the window, he unlatched it and pushed it open, then placed his precious book on the window sill. Grunting, the genetic experiment hoisted himself onto the window frame, too.

Behind him, Daniel continued to speak. "Jack and General Hammond always say we don't leave our people behind, but sometimes we do when we don't mean to. My parents didn't; my wife didn't. Even though they're gone, I still remember them. I'll remember you, too."

Stitch paused to look over his shoulder, but Daniel wasn't even looking his direction. The man-turned-boy was staring intently at his photos. Feeling his insides constrict painfully, the alien briefly considered staying. A moment later, he shook his head, determined to keep to his course. He couldn't stay and risk hurting Daniel again.

As he hopped down to the ground and began to walk away, book in hand, his sensitive ears caught one last softly-spoken sentence:"I remember everyone who leaves."

Almost shaking, Stitch stumbled into the woods, tuning out the sad voice behind him. Never had he felt so conflicted, and he didn't like it one bit. He _had _to leave, to find somewhere he belonged.

Stopping in a moonlit clearing, Stitch set his book down and opened it. Turning to the page where the Ugly Duckling was reunited with his real family, he gave the picture a careful caress, much like the way Daniel had touched the arms of his parents. Then he looked at the previous page, where the plaintive baby swan cried out for help.

"L... l... lost," Stitch sounded out, then sat and peered around the clearing to see if anyone had heard him. Then, just a little louder, "I'm lost!"

* * *

Author's Notes:  
//grin// Poor little guy... just as blind as Daniel when it comes to knowing if he's wanted or not! 


	38. Chapter 38

Part 38

Coughing, spluttering, and hacking, Agent Wendy Pleakley dragged himself from the lake. "I hate this planet," he moaned.

Thusfar, since arriving on Planet Earth, he'd been attacked by a swarm of blood-sucking insects, dragged into a lake by an evil genius, nearly drowned when said evil genius' little renegade experiment took a chomp out of his air tank, launched out of the lake by the explosive force of the tanks sudden release of air, nearly drowned again when he came back down, and just now, he had a close encounter with a water-dwelling serpent that his intelligence reports said wasn't even supposed to live in this part of the world.

Crawling just far enough on-shore to be out of the water and concealed behind some bushes, the three-legged agent collapsed on his back next to Jumba, panting and heaving.

"Little monster!" Jumba growled, and Pleakley whole-heartedly agreed. They had _almost_ succeeded in attaching the specially-designed UGF No-Break™ cuffs on the slippery monster when he unexpectedly turned the proverbial tables on them, cuffing Jumba to Pleakley and turning the D.U.M.B. agent's air tank into an eco-friendly--but not user-friendly--propulsion system. After splashing down, Jumba had been able to release the cuffs and the two had made for the surface as quickly as they could swim.

Pleakley, unfortunately, didn't make it to shore before coming face-to-face with what he just _knew_ was a venomous Eastern massasauga rattlesnake. Thankfully, it was more afraid of him than he was of it, though Pleakley himself wasted _no_ time escaping.

Suddenly, his nearly-forgotten communicator bleeped, indicating an incoming call. Hoping it was his mother, Pleakley dug into his soggy satchel, shook a few droplets free of the device, and activated it. "Uh, Agent Pleakley here."

The stern visage of the Grand Councilwoman filled the screen. "I have lost patience with you both," she hissed. "Have you captured Six-Two-Six or not?"

"Um..." Pleakley hedged, flicking a glance at the still-supine Jumba. "Uh... uh..."

"Consider yourselves fired and prison-bound," the Grand Councilwoman declared. "Your incompetence is nothing short of unspeakable!"

With a beep, the communicator switched off, leaving Pleakley to splutter at a blank screen. "But, uh.." Fired? _Prison_-bound? Well, that was all fine for Jumba, who'd been living at the Galactic Federation Penitentiary before his work-release, but Pleakley was an extremely attractive member of his race, and had heard rumors that--

Just as the now-_former_ agent was unable to hold back a sob of fear, Jumba sat up. "We're... fired!" he exclaimed, sounding almost happy about it.

Oh, wait. He _was_ happy about it. But why?

Jumba sprang to his feet. "Now, we do it my way!"

"Your way?" Jumba's way usually involved weapons of mass destruction and chaos the likes of which the primitive denizens of this planet had never seen! What did he mean, his...

"Wait!" Pleakley yelped.

-----

In the command center of the United Galactic Federation, the Grand Councilwoman frowned at the deactivated viewscreen. Stroking her chin contemplatively, she mused aloud, "It seems I have over-estimated Jumper and Blinkley..."

"Uh, Jumba and Pleakley," the massive Captain Gantu corrected.

"Whatever!" she growled, then composed herself. "The mission is in jeopardy. This could be your chance to redeem yourself, Captain Gantu. How soon will you be prepared to leave?"

Gantu turned to look at her. "Immediately," he declared firmly, though the Grand Councilwoman thought she detected a slight shaky quiver to his knees.

Wimp. As Captain Gantu stalked off to make his departure preparations, the Grand Councilwoman headed to her flagship to follow. If one wanted something done right...

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Aaaaaaand, assuming the rest of my homework goes as smoothly as that which I've already completed, there might be another installment this weekend. Cross your fingers!


	39. Chapter 39

Part 39

The ringing cell phone startled Jack awake, and he jumped out of bed, stumbling over the rug he kept forgetting was there. Fortunately, he just barely avoided injuring himself on the chest at the foot of the bed this time. Wondering who was crazy enough to call him this early while he was on _vacation_, Jack snatched up the noisy object and glared at the Caller ID.

"Carter?"

"Sir!" his second-in-command greeted far too brightly for oh-six-hundred.

"What?"

"The collection team and I were just finishing up the, uh, site, sir, when the game warden you said to watch out for showed up."

"Conservation officer"

"Sir?"

Jack sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Nevermind. Bubbles? Big black guy, looks like Teal'c's long-lost twin?"

"Yes, sir," Carter confirmed. "The SFs have been blocking him from coming back to the site so far, but he's implied that he can and will call his superiors."

Groaning, the colonel slumped on the edge of the bed. "Well, I can guarantee we could take the dispute all the way to the President, and our jurisdiction would trump his any day. But if the guy was taking 'no' for an answer, you wouldn't have called me, would you?"

"Well, it's a little too early to call the general," she admitted.

Jack wouldn't bet on it, but it would be a lot simpler to handle this situation himself than to try to get Hammond embroiled in an argument that would be pretty much moot after the Air Force finished packing up Stitch's ship and left. "Nah, I'll handle this. Bubbles gonna stay put 'til I get there?"

"I think I can get him to wait for you, sir. At the moment, he and Teal'c are engaged in some sort of staring contest... and I couldn't begin to guess who's winning."

If Carter had been talking about anyone else, Jack would have immediately bet his money on the stoic Jaffa. Officer Bubbles was one extremely _intense_ human, though, and was quite possibly the only human Jack had ever met who stood a chance of matching Teal'c stare for stare.

"That's... disturbing," he replied. "All right, Carter, get him to hang around for a few minutes and I'll be right there. Make sure your team doesn't stop working, though."

"They won't, sir," she answered. "See you soon."

Pitching the phone on the end of the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Recalcitrant mini-archaeologists, sharp-toothed blue aliens, and creepy conservation officers: Jack was going to need a vacation to recover from his vacation! Shuffling about, he dressed himself and grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet. Crossing to Daniel's room he raised his knuckles to knock on the door, but stopped himself. Instead, Jack quietly pushed the door open and leaned against the frame, staring at the lump in the middle of the covers.

Daniel had been full of contradictions as an adult, being both exceptionally wise and incredibly naïve. He was full of childish innocence and wonder, but also pain and sorrow beyond his years. Now, as a man in a child's body, Daniel had added a layer to his contrary nature, yet, it seemed he was even more like himself than ever before. Or did that even make sense?

Well, if it did, it was because it was about Daniel, who simply defied logical description at any age, size, or level of consciousness.

Crossing the shadowy room, Jack bent over the bed and looked down at the tangled mop of blondish-brown hair buried face-first in the pillow. Daniel had always looked younger in his sleep, and as a child, he simply looked angelic. Jack realized he could stand for hours and watch the little boy sleep, but they had places to be today, and soon.

Just as his hand fell on the sleeping child's shoulder, Daniel stirred, mumbling, "Can we play more after lunch, Jack?"

Jack froze. Daniel could only be dreaming about yesterday's picnic, and from the shy, hopeful smile on his young friend's face, it was a happy memory for him. He'd never used the word "play" though, nor had he asked if there were more activities planned for after they ate. In typical Daniel fashion, he was prepared to simply "go along" with whatever Jack had in mind, which made it difficult to tell if he was having any fun or not.

Obviously, he _had_. Squeezing his young friend's shoulder lightly, Jack answered thickly, "Sure we can, Danny." Daniel's expression had started to slide toward an adorable pout, but at the man's words, his smile returned, broader than before, and his right hand twitched on the bedspread as though gripping a baseball to throw.

Stepping out of the room, Jack headed for the kitchen and tore a sheet of paper out of the ancient notebook in the junk drawer. He quickly scribbled a note and stuck it to the refrigerator with a brightly colored magnet, right at about eye-level for someone Daniel's height. Mentally vowing that this wouldn't take longer than an hour or two, Jack headed out the door for the disputed crash site.

Daniel so rarely had pleasant dreams, Jack wasn't going to wake him up from one unless he had to, and hopefully he'd be back before the kid even woke.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Bleh... classwork. I had more free time when working forty-five hours a week than I do when going to school for fifteen! 

Of course, it was also a lot harder than I thought trying to come up with a logical reason for Colonel Responsible Parent to leave Daniel in the cabin alone...


	40. Chapter 40

Part 40

Jumba chuckled quietly to himself and pushed back a branch blocking his view. There, in the clearing just ahead, lay the target of his trek to this backwater primitive world: Experiment Six-Two-Six. The blue furry creature was curled atop a colorful text, but quickly sat up when he heard the Kweltekwan's approach. Strangely, rather than growling and preparing to defend himself, the experiment lowered his ears and clutched his fore-paws together.

Unwilling to let this opportunity pass, the Evil Genius stepped out from behind his concealing shrub and pointed his plasma blaster at the rogue creature. "Don't move!"

Six-Two-Six didn't, but his shoulders sagged and ears drooped even further. His eyes darted back and forth as though seeking an escape route, but Jumba wasn't prepared to let it get away. "You were expensive," he informed him, stepping nearer and reaching out a hand, hoping he would be smart enough to take the out the scientist was offering instead of fighting. "Yes... yes, that's it... come quietly."

"I'm... waiting," Six-Two-Six replied quietly.

"For what?" Jumba asked, surprised. He took another step, and felt his foot land on something. Glancing down, he noted the open text the creature had been huddled atop moments earlier.

The experiment winced at the muddy bootprint on the picture. "Family."

"Ah," Jumba smiled. "You don't have one. _I_ made you."

"Um... maybe... I could..."

"You're built to destroy. You can never belong."

To Jumba's utter amazement, the monster seemed... saddened. He most certainly wasn't built for that! Genetic experiments created for the purpose of causing mass destruction and mayhem were not supposed to feel remorse. Clearly, like his two-hundred-and-sixty-one predecessors, the creature was flawed.

"Now come quietly," he ordered gently, "and we will take you apart."

Six-Two-Six was having none of it. His ears rose sharply and he took off into the woods. Annoyed with himself for believing the creature's capture could ever be so easy, Jumba cursed and stomped after him.

-----

Daniel was having a rather pleasant dream involving baseballs and picnic baskets, and was reluctant to leave it for the waking world. Unfortunately, he was going to have get up very soon anyway, as his little boy body had a little boy's bladder capacity, too. Scrubbing at his sleep-filled eyes, he crawled out of the warm bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

Once he was finished and the little red stool he used to reach the sink safely stowed beneath the vanity, Daniel headed for the kitchen, surprised he hadn't smelled breakfast yet. Jack, early riser that he was, had always had it nearly ready by the time Daniel woke each morning. There was no Jack in the kitchen, though, but as Daniel turned to go check the colonel's room, a yellowed piece of paper stuck to the refrigerator caught his eye.

"_Daniel_," it read, "_Carter and T are having issues with DNR. Gone to help. Be back soon. Use your cell phone to call me when you get up. Jack._"

Daniel couldn't help but grin; Jack wasn't supposed to know he'd snuck his cell phone with him! It seemed Jack still knew him very well, and he should have known a little thing like a smuggled cell phone wouldn't get past his Special Ops friend. Turning around to retrieve the contraband item from his room, Daniel was startled by the skittering of claws on wood flooring and the sudden appearance of his erstwhile pet.

"Stitch?" he asked, disturbed by the frantic look on the blue alien's face. "What is it?"

Just as Stitch made a shushing motion, there was a loud _crack_, then the kitchen door burst open. Daniel gasped, staring at the definitely-not-human four-eyed behemoth that emerged through the newly-created opening. Stitch scrambled around behind Daniel and peered at the large alien.

"Oh," exclaimed the newcomer gleefully, "hiding behind your little friend won't work anymore!" From behind his back he drew a brightly-colored object that looked like a ray gun from a 1950s sci-fi. "Didn't I tell you? We got fired this morning: new rules!"

Grunting, Stitch shoved Daniel out of the way, and the little boy landed with a painful thud just as there was the unmistakeable sound of an energy weapon firing. Rolling over, he was shocked to see Stitch holding a glowing ball of energy in his paws, as though he'd caught the blast fired at him.

Come to think of it, he probably _had_, and even the intruder was impressed. Stitch cackled with glee, then began to juggle the ball back and forth as it burned his fingers. Finally, he threw it at the bigger alien, grabbed Daniel's wrist, and fled for the front door. With a hand-up boost from Stitch, the archaeologist-turned-boy was able to reach the deadbolt, sliding it out of the way and dropping to the floor to open the door.

"You're alive!" exclaimed a high-pitched voice. It belonged to a skinny, one-eyed green thing in a blue uniform.

"They're everywhere!" Daniel yelled, slamming the door shut.

Stitch merely grabbed his wrist again and raced for Daniel's bedroom.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
'Nother treat for you! And the fun continues... 


	41. Chapter 41

Part 41

A man of many talents was he, but Jack didn't consider mediation to be one of his skills. Provoking and prolonging conflict, yes, but resolving? No thanks!

Unfortunately, as a full-bird colonel in the Air Force _and_ the second-in-command of a top secret military installation, it was a role he was forced to fill time and time again. Five years of trying to get military and civilian personnel to play nice with each other had insured he got plenty of practice.

The civilian scientists were far easier to placate than a civilian law enforcement officer, though. The scientists could be mollified by changing the brand of coffee or putting in a requisition for a new gadget or something else easily fixed. Handling external agencies was delicate work, and Jack usually preferred to leave such entanglements to Hammond or one of the Pentagon desk jockeys, like Major Davis. But since he was _already _in Minnesota, talking to Officer Bubbles was Jack's job.

As soon as he arrived on the scene, Jack could immediately see what Carter meant about the staring contest between Teal'c and Bubbles. The DNR officer had his arms crossed over his massive chest and was staring implacably through the dark lenses of his omnipresent sunglasses. The Jaffa had his hands clasped behind his back and was returning the look just as passively. Neither moved, and it seemed as though neither breathed or blinked, either.

"Colonel," Carter greeted, moving away from the gaggle of geeks with whom she'd been conversing. "We're almost finished here, sir."

"So it was an experimental UAV like I thought?" he replied, just a little too loudly.

Known for her brains, the major caught on quickly. "Yes, sir. I tried to explain to Officer Bubbles that we were handling a clean-up of a classified operation, but--"

"But he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer," Jack finished, peering over at the conservation officer.

Bubbles peeled himself away from his mental battle with Teal'c. "Colonel, as an officer of the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, I have jurisdiction over the _entire_ state of Minnesota."

"Only when it involves natural resources," the colonel corrected.

A Teal'c-like eyebrow raised. "So the acre of downed trees and displaced wildlife are nothing?"

Jack knew it was coming. "Do the words 'national security' mean nothing?"

The conservation officer's jaw twitched, and again the resemblance to Teal'c's mannerism was just plain scary. "'National security', Colonel? For a downed reconnaissance aircraft in central Minnesota?"

"_Experimental_ reconnaissance aircraft," he answered. "And what's the big deal, anyway? You wait--what, another two hours, Carter?"

"One-and-a-half, sir."

"Okay, one-and-a-half. You wait for one-and-a-half more hours, Bubbles, then this neck of the woods is all yours again."

Bubbles didn't look at all pleased, and any suspicions Jack already had about the nature of the man's interest in the crash site increased ten-fold. From his comments two nights ago, the colonel was pretty sure Bubbles had visited the area himself, and possibly saw something that made him believe... well, whatever it was he believed. Jack wondered how long it would be before "Air Force Alien Cover-Up!" made it to the headlines of one of Teal'c's trashy tabloids. Again.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Excusing himself, his eyebrows rose when "Daniel's Cell" flashed across the screen. He _so_ knew the kid had brought it with him!

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he grinned.

"Oh, hi, Jack."

"I thought I told you to leave that at home."

"Well, if I had, I couldn't have called you this morning, now could I?" He sounded a little breathless.

"I bet you didn't leave your wallet behind, either, did--" There was a strange noise in the background. "Daniel, what was that?"

"Oh, some kind of exploding... something or another. Stitch and I made it... which reminds me: you're going to need a new toaster."

"I'm going to need a new _toaster_?" Jack echoed.

"That's what Orlin said," Carter remarked, frowning.

"Daniel, what's going on?"

"Um..." Again, more strange noises in the background, then the sound of running feet and slamming doors. Finally, Daniel came back on the line. "Well, since I don't think cell signals are very secure, let's just say two guys from out-of-town are here trying to, uh, steal... my dog."

Not sure if the "out-of-towners" were of the Goa'uld or NID varieties, Jack raced for the rental, ignoring the cries of surprise from behind him. "Crap, Daniel, I'm on my way!"

A shrill, unfamiliar voice was suddenly on the line. "Uh, no need to panic... everything's under control..."

Starting up the engine and making a sharp U-turn back for the cabin, Jack demanded, "Who is this?"

There was a rattling noise as though the phone had been dropped, then Daniel was back on the line. "Oh, good," he began in a distracted manner, "Stitch found your chainsaw."

"Daniel!" Jack howled, then the line went dead.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
MWAHAHA! That's probably the BEST line from the movie: "Oh, good! My dog found the chainsaw." 


	42. Chapter 42

Part 42

Cackling like a maniac, Stitch held the noisy wood-cutting device high overhead and leapt toward Jumba. The downed Kweltekwan cast about for a defense, finally coming up with something drawn from beneath a nearby pile of debris. The object was hurled at the airborne Stitch, smacking him in the head and causing him to drop the chainsaw. The machine hit the hardwood floor, cut a long gouge, then shut itself off, but not before its chain had snapped and flown across the room with a _zing!_

Sitting upright and shaking his head to try to dislodge the plunger that had once resided beneath the kitchen sink but now was firmly attached to his head, Stitch spotted something yellow out of the corner of his eye.

"Ha!" he howled triumphantly, yanking Jumba's blaster out from beneath a fallen wall cabinet. Pointing it at his creator, he tugged the trigger.

Jumba was just as quick, jamming a carrot into the barrel of the weapon even as he fired. "You shouldn't play with guns."

Stitch blinked. "Oh, okay," he responded with as much innocence as he could muster. He then handed the whining blaster over to Jumba.

"Thank you," Jumba acknowledged, but before Stitch could get away, the scientist suddenly realized that the blaster was winding up to an overload. "Ooh! I just remembered: it's your birthday! Happy birthday."

Clearly, the Evil Genius had spent too much time on this planet. Fortunately, so had the creature formerly known as Experiment Six-Two-Six. Tugging on Jumba's vest, Stitch pitched the weapon back to him. "Merry Christmas!"

"It's not Christmas!" Jumba protested, throwing it back.

"Happy Hanukkah!" Stitch tried, even as his sensitive ears picked up the unmistakable sounds of his young human friend trying to fight off the agent from the Galactic Federation.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Daniel howled, finishing the exclamation with a loud grunt. A crash told him the agent had just ended up on the floor, and Stitch cheered the boy's fighting skills.

"It's not Hanukkah!" Jumba denied, returning the blaster again.

The D.U.M.B. agent was hardly finished just because a small child could knock him over easily. "Trust me! This is not going to end well!"

"_Trust _you?" Daniel demanded, then squeaked. "Hey! Put me down!"

Stitch flung the blaster away again. "Catch!"

Jumba just as quickly threw it back, the whine becoming louder and higher pitched. He called out something in his native language, which, if Stitch were to translate it to Daniel's language, would approximate, "One potato."

"Two potato!" he replied, passing the "hot potato" as the Kweltekwan children's game dictated. He briefly wondered if humans had something similar.

"Three potato!"

"Four!"

"Five potato!"

"Six potato!"

"Seven potato more!"

Stitch sincerely hoped Daniel had gotten out of the house in time. "My..."

"...Mother..."

"...Told..."

"...Me..."

Realizing Jumba held the upper hand in the game and could just as easily declare "it" instead of the required "not", Stitch did the only thing he could.

He cheated.

"You."

"...Are..."

Grinning gleefully, Stitch threw the shrieking weapon back at Jumba. "It!"

Jumba danced in place. "Ooh, I win!"

Stitch dove for cover as the overloaded blaster exploded.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Just a little short one to try to get us all back into it, pretty much all of which is from the movie. Thankfully, this is Thanksgiving week in the States, which means I have a four-day weekend coming up! Unfortunately, I have a computer program to write and an English paper to finish, plus two tests and a quiz to take... all before the end of the day Wednesday. 

On the plus side, there's only one regular week left of class, then finals, and then I'll be on winter break until January! Whoohoo!


	43. Chapter 43

Part 43

Daniel squirmed, kicking, punching, and--borrowing from the Combat Handbook of Samantha Carter--_biting _the rubbery green alien who was dragging him out of Jack's cabin. The only results of his efforts were a foul taste in his mouth and an even tighter grip around his ribcage. Then, just as they were speeding into the trees as fast as the alien's legs--all three of them--could carry them, there was a tremendous, tremulous trumpeting blast, as though someone had just sat on the world's largest Whoopee Cushion.

His kidnapper must have been equally surprised by the noise, as he tripped and dropped Daniel. The startled archaeologist watched in bemusement as the wailing creature tumbled head over heels into the forest. His moment of victory was stolen in the instant he remembered that Stitch was likely still battling the larger of the two intruders. Rolling onto his knees, he turned his gaze back toward the cabin, feeling his jaw drop.

The cabin was _gone_. Thick smoke billowed up from what little remained of the structure's walls and debris lay strewn about the small clearing. The skeletal timbers of the cabin where charred black, and though Daniel couldn't be certain, he believed _green_ fires still burned in spots.

What he could tell for sure was that there was no sign of Stitch.

"No," he whispered softly, staring at the wreckage and thinking of all the other friends he'd lost since joining the Stargate program. He'd only just started to get to know Stitch, and now he was gone. Nevermind that Stitch had walked out last night--he'd come back this morning, after all--but now he'd died protecting Daniel.

Tears stung his eyes, and he stumbled into the clearing, mind leaping across a thousand things without landing on any one thought for very long. He thought of Stitch, and Jack, and all the little non-existent fish in the pond which now brimmed with floating wood fragments. He thought of his parents, and Sha're, and Sarah, and Robert, and Reese, and unable to bear his thoughts any longer, turned tail and fled into the woods.

Daniel wasn't sure how long he ran, tears blurring both his vision and his common sense, but he finally stopped when his short legs decided he'd gone _quite_ far enough. Slumping onto a convenient fallen log, he panted for breath and ground his knuckles into his eyes, trying to force his child-sized brain to start cooperating. Finally, Daniel got himself sufficiently under control and looked around, hoping to regain his bearings and maybe find his way back to the cabin.

Or rather, what was _left_ of the cabin.

The rustle of undergrowth startled him, and thinking the one-eyed green thing was coming back, Daniel swung over the log and flattened himself on the ground behind it as best he could. Pressing his nose to the dirt, he alternated between trying to hold his breath and trying to breathe as quietly and evenly as possible.

"Da... dan... yul?"

Daniel gasped, head popping up over the log before he could stop himself. "Stitch?"

The furry blue alien stood sheepishly on the other side of the log, arms tucked behind his back as his toes drew circles in the dirt. His ears were laid flat against his skull, giving him the appearance of a guilty canine caught in the act of digging holes or chewing up shoes. After Daniel crawled back over the log to stand next to him, Stitch brought his arms forward, extending Daniel's scorched journal in his claw-tipped hands.

Blinking in astonishment, Daniel accepted the return of his cherished possession, opening it briefly just to confirm his precious photos were also intact. "Thank you for saving this," he smiled at Stitch. The expression dropped when a thought occurred to him. "Those two aliens... they were after you, weren't they?"

Stitch's head dropped even lower, but he nodded.

"And they won't stop until they've captured or killed you, will they?" he guessed. "If your people don't have Stargates, then we could send you through ours to another planet. They won't know how to track you, and you'll be safe there." But he didn't want to leave Stitch offworld, not now that the small alien had saved his life _and_ the journal containing all his thoughts and experiences since being turned into a child.

The liquid eyes Stitch turned up at him told Daniel that his furry friend didn't like that idea well, either.

"Abydos," Daniel declared. "My wife's family lives there. It might be a little hot for you in all that fur, but just think: it's a desert, so there's no water... and I can visit you as often as Jack will let me. What do you think?"

Stitch's ears came up, but just as he opened his toothy maw to say something, his head swivelled sharply to the left.

Daniel spun around to follow his gaze, thinking perhaps the green alien had found them. Instead, he beheld a great gray behemoth, and his journal fell through suddenly-numb fingers. He barely had time to register that there was something flying toward him before it was wrapping itself around Daniel and Stitch and squeezing them together in what seemed to be incredibly strong mesh netting.

"Surprise!" a deep, rumbling voice laughed. "And here I thought you'd be difficult to catch. Silly me."

-----

Author's Notes:  
Whee! Alright, 'tis finals week now, kiddos! Also, I got back the part needed for my laptop and reassembled it, so except for the fact that the battery is ancient and lasts only about ten minutes, now, I have _that_ back, too! I have four finals to take this week plus four additional exams necessary to complete a computer certification that I only just now found out I have to have to take the classes I need for next semester... but I'm honestly not worried about any of them, since I have A's in all of my classes and know the material pretty well.

Anywho, I've started on the next part already, so hopefully I'll be able to get this little monster... er, _story_ all "stitched" up by the end of the year//crosses fingers//

Oh, yes, and for anyone who uses LJ and is interested in reading the ramblings of my deranged mind, I've finally started using my previously-long-neglected account. Unsurprisingly, I'm listed as "cleothemuse".


	44. Chapter 44

Part 44

Jack mashed down on the accelerator, propelling the Jeep forward as fast as he dared on the gravel road back to the cabin. In his rearview mirror, he'd caught glimpses of Officer Bubbles' truck, with Sam and Teal'c close behind in a clichéd government-issue black SUV. Mostly, though, he kept his focus on the path before him, maneuvering the agile vehicle around turns at speeds neither vehicle following could match.

If the party-crashers who showed up at his cabin so much as harmed a hair on Daniel's head...

Up ahead was the last turn before his home-away-from-home, and Jack eased off the gas pedal just enough to make it around the bend. It was a good thing he had, too, as the gravel lane rather abruptly ended in a pile of smoldering debris. Swerving around it, he heard a branch snap off on the passenger side of the Jeep, and he just _knew_ his credit card was going to be hurting when he turned the rental in at the airport.

His more immediate problem, however, was the source of the obstruction: his cabin. His beloved hideaway in the Minnesota backwoods. The pride and joy of his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, which he had one day hoped to give to Charlie, and only this week had decided he'd change his will to give it to Daniel. Now, like Charlie, the cabin was gone.

Hopefully, Daniel had gotten out.

Jack opened the car door and climbed out, heading for the wreckage. He was afraid to look too closely, though, fearful he might find some sign that his best friend hadn't escaped the explosion. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he realized Carter and Teal'c and possibly even Bubbles were following him toward the ruined cabin.

"O'Neill," Teal'c began softly, "I am confident Daniel Jackson was not here when this structure was destroyed."

"Me too," Sam chimed in immediately.

"I'll buy that," Jack began slowly, stooping to pick up the charred remains of child-sized baseball glove. "But where did he go?"

Teal'c immediately turned for the woods. "We should split up and search for him, O'Neill. Perhaps one of us will find tracks to indicate where he has gone."

"Or where he's been _taken_," Jack pointed out bitterly. "I would just bet the NID was just lying in wait for me to do something stupid like leave him alone for a few hours."

Bubbles cleared his throat. "I've come across traces in the woods indicating a number of individuals have been camping on privately-held property. If these 'NID' were indeed spying on you and your son, it is likely that it was they and not poachers as I had first believed."

Jack let out a huff of air. "Carter, go with Bubbles. Check out the poacher angle. Teal... T and I are going to see what we can find here. Call me if you find anything."

"Will do, sir," the major promised.

After a half hour of frustrating scouting, neither Jack nor Teal'c had come up with any definitive tracks. The only disturbances to the ground looked like they'd been made by someone wearing twelve-inch round snowshoes--which was an absurd notion in late May. There were also oddly-placed V-shaped marks like some kind of bird, only with three legs instead of two.

"Perhaps Daniel Jackson's abductors were not human," the Jaffa suggested at last. "It is possible the creature known as Stitch did not arrive here alone."

Jack clenched his fists. "If that's the case, I am going to _kill_ the furball! That's twice in two days he's put Daniel in serious danger, and I warned him yesterday to not do it again."

"There are two sets of tracks for Stitch," Teal'c answered, pointing. "This trail looks newer than the last."

"And the other two aliens?"

"One goes east; the other, to the north. Stitch's tracks go north as well."

Closing his eyes, Jack debated his choices. On the one hand, following Stitch and the big round tracks seemed to be the logical way to go, but some instinct was telling him to follow the lighter tread to the east. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare zat, would you T?" he asked, annoyed that his cabin had been blown up, likely taking his old rifle and 45-caliber handgun with it. He could have used the firepower.

"You may carry mine," the big guy offered, drawing the weapon from his jacket pocket.

Jack waved it off. "You keep it. You're following Stitch and the big alien's tracks. I'll go after the little birdy. I'll find something to use as a weapon along the way, but the way I'm feeling right now, I just might use my bare hands."

"As may I," agreed Teal'c with a low growl.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Go get 'em, boys! 


	45. Chapter 45

Part 45

Sam kept one eye on the driver of the truck and one on the road ahead. It was almost _creepy_ how much Officer Bubbles resembled Teal'c, both in mannerism and appearance. In fact, if not for the brown uniform of an officer of the Department of Natural Resources, she could well imagine this was her large teammate at her side. He hadn't said a word in fifteen minutes.

"So..." she began nervously. "'Bubbles'... that's an unusual name."

"I inherited it," the officer replied tersely.

Apparently, she'd hit on a touchy subject. Biting the inside of her cheek, the major turned her attention back to the road, but was unable to resist glancing at Bubbles out of the corner of her eye.

After a long silence, Bubbles asked, "Why would an intelligence organization such as the NID be interested in Colonel O'Neill's son?"

Feeling like a deer in the proverbial headlights, Sam turned to look at him curiously. "How did you know the NID were intelligence?"

"You'd be surprised at what I know," he replied. "I have... 'acquaintances' in high places, Major. The boy?"

"Daniel's not the colonel's son," she explained, drawing on the cover story General Hammond had had prepared before the colonel was allowed to take Daniel off-base. "He's the son of a very close friend, though, one who has been, uh, missing for a few weeks."

"I see. And the NID's interest?"

Sam twisted her lips. "Not the NID directly, but rogue elements of it, ones we believe are under the orders and pay of special interest groups. Daniel... er, Daniel's dad is a valuable asset to the program Colonel O'Neill, Murray, and I are a part of, and we believe that they want Daniel to... use as leverage."

Bubbles' eyebrow raised in yet another Teal'c-like gesture. "I see."

Fortunately, they pulled off the side of the road and parked, sparing Sam from further conversation. Bubbles shut off the engine, then turned to her. "We should approach on foot if we are to catch these intruders by surprise."

"If you've known they were here all this time, why haven't you done anything?"

"Previously, I have had no real reason to suspect them of wrong-doing," he replied, reaching over her head for the rifle mounted across the back window of the truck. Ducking to accomodate him, Sam used the opportunity to draw her own weapon from the small of her back and check the clip.

"We still don't," she pointed out, clicking the magazine into place and opening the truck door.

"The benefit of being a conservation officer," Bubbles began with just a slight curve to his lips, "is that I do not require a warrant to investigate anyone for possible violations of game laws."

"Ah," Sam smiled. "That's handy."

"It is," he replied, and Sam was briefly disappointed. She'd expected him to say "indeed".

After Bubbles handed her a small radio, they stepped into the tree line and were soon following what Sam guessed to be a game trail. The conservation officer moved quickly but confidently, and Sam couldn't help but wonder where the man had been trained. Bubbles was no bumbling backwoods lawman, and though he wasn't anywhere near as good as Teal'c, she estimated his skills were on-par with many of the SG team members she worked with on a regular basis.

His hand came up, and through the trees ahead, Sam could see movement. Motioning her intent to approach from a different side, she left the trail and circled the clearing, careful not to make any noises which would give her position away to the possible enemy. Once she found a place that gave her a clear view of the camp, yet afforded her a measure of concealment, she clicked the radio to signal her readiness.

The five men in the clearing jumped when Bubbles announced himself and his affiliation. Sam winced, not realizing he'd intended to give himself away, but realized that if these were legitimate campers--which she strongly doubted--then going in with guns blazing would be a monumental mistake. As it was, she felt giving them such an easy target was a poor choice.

A flash of blue light aimed at Bubbles confirmed her suspicions. These were no poachers, but rogue NID agents, and they were armed with zats.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Okay, so having the story finished by the end of the year did NOT go according to plan. When transferring files to my laptop in preparation for being out-of-town quite a bit during the holidays, I inadvertently saved an older copy of "Stitch" over the one I had been working on, thus losing an entire "part" and chunk of another. //thumps head into desk// But that's okay, I think I like the new versions better! 


	46. Chapter 46

Part 46

Keeping his eye on the ground, Jack trailed the lighter alien's unusual tracks. Unsurprisingly, the prints led right up to the edge of the woods. Before plunging into the trees, Jack took a quick glance around at the smoldering ruins of his cabin. Noting that Teal'c had already vanished to the north, he clenched his jaw and turned back to his task.

Only a few feet into the woods, the trail abruptly became disturbed, the grass flattened down like something much larger had come through here. Not for the first time, Jack wished he had half the tracking skills his Jaffa teammate possessed. Teal'c surely would have been able to make sense of the sudden, widespread leveling of grass as though someone had rolled...

He felt like conking himself on the head for his stupidity. The alien must have fallen to the ground here and rolled, possibly having tripped on an unseen root or was pitched over by the concussive blast from the exploding cabin. Pieces of charred debris nearby certainly gave credence to the latter theory. Jack's eyes swept across the outer edge of the disturbed ground, hoping to find where the alien's trail continued. A few tell-tale broken blades of grass gave him his path, but it was a clear footprint nearby that gave him real hope.

It was unmistakably the tread of the size eleven OshKosh sneakers Fraiser bought Daniel so the little archaeologist could leave the Mountain properly shod.

Jack had suspected the only reason for the aliens to split up was that the big guy was in pursuit of Stitch, leaving the smaller one to go after Daniel... or maybe he'd carried Daniel to this point. Either way, the colonel was delighted his hunch had played out--though wary that he might still run into said alien--and eagerly cast about for further signs of Daniel's trail. A slight depression in a soft patch of ground suggested Daniel had turned toward the cabin, but then his path turned back into the deep woods. If the space between the strides was any indication, the boy was running as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Quickening his own pace, Jack followed, noting from the number of broken twigs and disturbed undergrowth that Daniel had obviously not tried to conceal his trail at all, but was in full-flight. Near as he could tell, the alien intruder hadn't followed, so Jack could only guess what might have propelled his young friend forward at such a frenzied pace.

A short time later, the trees broke into a small clearing where a tall tree had tumbled down only a few years before, leaving its wooden carcass sprawling across the forest floor. There, on the ground next to the log, lay a charred leather-bound book, and Jack knew even before he picked it up that it was one of Daniel's personal journals.

"Where are you, kiddo?" he muttered to himself, knowing Daniel would never have willingly left such a precious item. The archaeologist's personal journals were to him what the battered brown fedora was to Indiana Jones: he'd risk life and limb to prevent one from being abandoned or misplaced. He'd had numerous mission journals get stolen, destroyed, or otherwise lost while on off-world missions, and every time, Daniel used his freakish memory to replicate the contents into a new volume. He claimed that the same couldn't be done for personal journals, though; he could never quite recapture the state-of-mind he'd been in when he first wrote the entries. After the last time Daniel had nearly given Jack a heart attack while rescuing a personal journal from certain doom, the colonel had ordered him to leave the irreplaceable books at _home_.

Casting about, Jack looked for more evidence which could indicate the fate of his young friend. As before, the ground was disturbed in a broad area, but he couldn't tell with whom Daniel had tangled this time. Moments later, he spotted a familiar clawed footprint, and felt his hands curl into fists.

"Stitch..." he growled. When he caught up to that no-good, floppy-eared, blue-furred--

The sound of crashing undergrowth interrupted his tirade. Without pausing to consider his actions--or reflect upon the fact that he was still unarmed--Jack clutched the journal tightly and raced to intercept the source of the ruckus.

Suddenly, the ground began to shake, and as Jack looked around, wondering just when it was Minnesota began experiencing earthquakes, he spotted something gray out of the corner of his eye. Gray and big.

_Very_ big.

The enormous alien was at least twenty feet tall and resembled a shark in its face but for the horn-like protrusions which sprouted from its head and followed the curve of its jaw. Realizing he had no way to defend himself--and probably still wouldn't even if he _had_ accepted Teal'c's offer of the zat--Jack back-pedaled and attempted to conceal himself in the underbrush. Feet the size of Volkswagens stomped past his hiding place, proving that this was a third alien--or rather a fourth, counting Stitch--and not either of the ones Jack and Teal'c had been tracking.

A muffled sound caught Jack's ears, drawing his attention upward to the silvery bag the behemoth swung casually in one hand. The container was wriggling, as though hands and feet were pushing on it from all sides. Jack suddenly recognized the noise he'd heard as fluent cursing in Arabic, German, Russian, and who-knew-what-else. What little he understood was so astonishingly blistering, the colonel could only gape and think proudly, _That's my boy!_

"That's my boy," he muttered aloud. Jolting out of his moment of distraction, he sprang into action, leaping out of the woods in pursuit of the giant bipedal shark. "Daniel!"

The silver bag stopped moving for a moment. "Jack!"

"Daniel!" Jack bellowed again, racing to catch up. "Hey, you! Sharkie! Put that bag down!"

"Sharkie" paused to look at him with its strange, iris-and-pupil-less blue eyes, then turned its back, ignoring him. Striding over to a waiting spaceship of a size large enough to accommodate its enormous bulk, the gray alien took a transparent capsule off its back and opened it on one rounded end. Dumping the contents of the silver bag into the capsule, he shut it and locked it into place in a fitted slot on the back of the spaceship. Tapping the container like one would when tormenting a bug in a bottle, the behemoth strode to the front of the vessel and climbed inside the opened hatch.

Jack called Daniel's name again, seeing two small figures pressed against the glass, one beating at it ineffectually with small fists. The colonel was only a dozen yards from the back of the spaceship when the engines powered up, blasting him with sudden force and knocking him on his rear. Dust and leaves flew up all around, preventing him from seeing. When the debris settled, Daniel and the spaceship were already high in the air and disappearing rapidly.

"Daniel," Jack whispered, throat catching.

He caught a glimpse of something small and blue hurtling from the back of the retreating spacecraft, and his jaw firmed. Picking himself up off the ground and tucking Daniel's journal safely into his waistband at the small of his back, Jack jogged determinedly for the spot where Stitch was going to land.

-----

Author's Notes:  
Whee! Good things come to those who wait: famous gen fic archive Stargatefan (dot com) has reopened after a two-year hiatus. I start my first job in seven months tomorrow, and if I like it well enough, I'll stay there until I successfully complete the A+ certification exams and find a computer-related job.


	47. Chapter 47

Part 47

Stitch tried to push Daniel out of the way when he saw the incoming trog net, but he was just a moment too slow. The catapulted ensnarement enveloped the two friends, before pulling tight around them, squishing them together in a small pocket of stretchy mesh. Roaring and snarling, Stitch tried to claw his way free, but found himself unable to damage the peculiar fabric.

"And here I thought you'd be difficult to catch," gloated the deep voice of Captain Gantu, the Galactic Federation officer who'd _dared_ try to imprison Stitch. "Silly me."

The bag suddenly rose in the air, throwing Stitch heavily against Daniel. Startled out of his momentary shock, the human boy began to kick and struggle, yelling things that sounded deliciously unpleasant in an astonishing variety of languages. He didn't recognize any of the words, but he made a mental note to have Daniel to teach him some of those wonderful curses later.

If they _had _a "later".

"Daniel!"

Stitch's ears pricked up, recognizing Jack O'Neill's voice. Wrapping a paw around the part of Daniel's shirt immediately nearest, he tugged hard, getting the boy's attention.

"Jack!" Daniel yelled back, having just barely heard his caregiver's call.

As Stitch heard the colonel's demand Gantu release his captives, he began to consider his options. Obviously, no escape was possibly so long as Stitch remained confined in the impenetrable trog net. Once the bag was released--and hopefully, it would be before Gantu attempted to leave the planet--he could find a way to break free of whatever confinement methods the officer came up with _this_ time Until then, he and Daniel were stuck.

The whine of heavy thrusters on stand-by reached his ears only moments before Gantu abruptly stopped. Upending the bag so that Daniel fell on Stitch, the enormous enforcer dumped the pair into a transport capsule and closed it before the blue-furred experiment could disentangle himself from his young friend.

"There you go, all buckled up for the trip," Gantu chortled, tossing the capsule casually in one hand and causing Daniel and Stitch to crash into one another again. Gantu then locked the pod into place on what Stitch guessed was the back of his personal transport, then thumped on the transparent material right in front of Daniel's face. "And _look_," Gantu continued, "I even caught you a little snack!"

What kind of monster did Gantu think he was? He didn't eat _people_!

As Daniel finally recovered from his disorientation, he began to pound on the reinforced glass, yelling for Jack again. Stitch considered his options, and realized that while he had no way to break through the material which was designed to be impenetrable from the inside of the pod, but could be shattered in case of emergency from the outside. Clearly, he needed to get _outside_ the pod, which meant he was going to have to do a little rearranging.

It took only a brief moment of concentration to return his body to its original configuration of six limbs, antennae, and dorsal spines. Ignoring the gasp from Daniel at his sudden change in appearance, Stitch dug his foreclaws into the join between the pod's lid and body and _squeezed_ himself through the tiny gap. It would have been an impossible task had he had bones, but it was still difficult, even for him.

Finally, Stitch was on the outside, but before he could contemplate his choices for cracking the pod open for Daniel, Gantu's ship rumbled and rattled, forcing him to cling to the slick surface as best he could to prevent being thrown off. All his efforts were for naught though, as the captain activated his primary thrusters, accelerating the craft forward and knocking Stitch off his perch.

Looking down at the rapidly approaching ground, Stitch decided that this was gonna hurt.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Okay, so I know it didn't really go anywhere, but you had to be wondering how Stitch got out of the capsule, right? 


	48. Chapter 48

Part 48

Bubbles dove out of the way, and the zat blast skimmed just over his arm. Sam immediately returned fire, taking down the man who'd tried to shoot the conservation officer plus a female agent nearby. The other two agents got their own weapons out--regular handguns this time, not zats--and Sam had to duck behind a large tree. Bullets pinged off the trunk and chunks of dirt and wood flew. Pausing for just a moment longer, she then risked a peek back at her adversaries.

The two men were racing for a pair of dirt bikes parked next to the nearby lake, still firing covering shots behind them. Sam squeezed off two more rounds, and managed to hit one operative in the leg, bringing him face-down in the dirt. Her next two shots missed the fourth agent and merely showered him with clods of dirt as he climbed aboard the bike and started the motor. Accelerating so suddenly the back end slid around, he took off down the shoreline.

Blue lightning snaked out and enveloped the rider and vehicle, turning the bike sharply to the side and pitching the fleeing agent into the shallow water. Nodding in satisfaction, Sam turned to see Bubbles standing next to the first of their fallen foes, eyeing the recovered zat with an inscrutable expression.

"Useful device," he commented as Sam stepped out of the trees.

"Very," she agreed. "It's classified, though, so I can't tell you anything about it. Sorry."

"I see." Handing the alien weapon to her without further question, Bubbles straightened imaginary wrinkles out of his uniform and stepped up to the downed agents. "These people will require medical attention."

"I know." Sam dug her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. She tried the colonel's number first, but it rang several times before going to voice mail. She left him a brief message explaining that she and Bubbles were successful in taking down the NID agents lurking in the woods, and that she was going to call Hammond to make the arrangements for securing the prisoners.

Her next call, as promised, was to the SGC, and she was put through to the general's office after only a short wait. Immediately, she let him know that she was standing next to a civilian law enforcement officer, and would therefore be unable to give him complete details. She then went on to explain that the O'Neill cabin had met with an accident, and that Teal'c and the colonel had gone to look for Daniel while she and Bubbles tracked down the rogue NID agents who had been haunting the area.

"According to Officer Bubbles, they began camping out in the woods well before the, uh, UAV crashed, sir, so it's pretty obvious why they were really here."

"_Understood, Major. Use your discretion to determine if you'll need further assistance from the local authorities and hospitals, and I'll make arrangements to have our own people take it from there._" He chuckled with little humor. "_All else fails, there's a Reserves wing of the 934th at the air field in Minneapolis that can fly all of you back here_."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, sir," Sam winced. She did _not_ have any desire to bounce around in the back of C-130 for even as short a flight as the one to Colorado would be.

"_I'll hold that option for the last resort_," Hammond promised. "_Officer Bubbles... he wouldn't happen to have an unusual first name, now would he? Rather large black fellow with a head full of hair?_"

"Uh, no hair, sir, but yes. Er, the colonel said his first name was... Cobra?"

This time, Hammond's mirth was genuine. "_And I bet he doesn't trust you much at all, does he_?"

Now really confused, Sam found herself giving Officer Bubbles a curious eye. The subject of her attention was, in turn, giving her a look rendered imperceptible by his dark sunglasses. "Probably not even as far as he could throw me, sir." Which, given the impressive circumference of the man's biceps, was saying a lot.

"_That's what I thought. Tell him you're working for Georgie H, and remind him that he still owes me one. That should net you a little more cooperation, Major. I'll contact you or Colonel O'Neill when I have further information_."

With that, General Hammond hung up, leaving Samantha Carter confused. Even with all her unusual experiences traveling off-world, she'd never felt anything so odd as being stuck in the middle of the Minnesota woods with four unconscious rogue agents and a conservation officer who was _definitely_ more than he seemed.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Grrr... have you ever heard of a class having an eighteen-page syllabus? Well, one of mine had one... so I dropped it yesterday. It was supposed to be a web-enhanced course, but the pompous turd teaching it was treating it like a full web course... but still required attendance. 

//rolls eyes//

Since my other four classes this semester are all computer-related (and mostly stuff I already know how to do, like code in HTML, CSS, and Javascript, and use Excel and Access), things should go well this term, too. Of course, now that I have a job again, my available free time still isn't quite what it was last semester. Drat.


	49. Chapter 49

Part 49

Jack watched Stitch plummet out of the sky and broke into a run, ignoring both the protests his knees put up at the motion and the sudden ringing of his cell phone. He was pretty sure that the little blue alien would survive the fall, given the state of the spaceship wreckage and the fact that he had apparently been hit by a semi before being taken to the animal shelter from which Daniel "adopted" him. "Truck-proof dog," indeed.

He skittered to a stop when he reached the landing zone. The groggy alien was just beginning to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. In the time since Jack had seen him last, Stitch had sprouted an extra set of arms, a pair of antennae, and a row of springy-looking spikes down his spine. Alarmed at how _alien_ the creature now looked, Jack seized the first weapon he could find: a tree branch. Just as Stitch made to stand up, the colonel hauled back and swung for the proverbial fences.

_Whap!_

"All right, talk!" Jack snapped, face red with anger, brandishing the tree branch like a Louisville Slugger. "I _know_ you had something to do with this, you little blue rat, so where's Daniel?" Stitch sat up and blinked at him dumbly. "Start talkin' or I'll _beat _the answers out of you!"

Stitch's shoulders slumped and he hauled himself to his feet with a sigh. "Okay, okay..."

"Crap!" Jack swore and swung again, surprised to actually hear the "dog" talk. When Stitch slid to a stop at the end of the long furrow his spines dug up, he waved the branch again and demanded, "Where's Daniel?"

Stitch sat up again, this time a little more slowly and cautiously, eyeing the leafy limb with trepidation. "Dan-yul--"

From out of nowhere, a bolt of energy struck the small creature, then a rather large figure did a commando roll into the clearing and pounced, snatching Stitch high in the air. "Ah ha!" the accented voice declared triumphantly, confining the flailing blue arms in a set of metallic cuffs. "Now all your washing is up!"

"You're under arrest! Read him his rights!" chimed in a squeaky voice, which Jack suddenly recognized as the one who had briefly taken the phone from Daniel when the down-sized archaeologist called to report the invasion. The voice belonged to a skinny, sallow-skinned alien with three legs whose upper body was clad in a military-style dress shirt.

These were some sort of intergalactic police? If that was the case, then they apparently had no concept of the limits of police brutality. Jack stared in mixed shock and horror as the bigger alien began to thump on Stitch, eliciting squeaks of protest from the blue creature. As the smaller of the two newcomers flipped open a cell phone-like device, lightning snaked out twice, enveloping the big guy first, then the yellow-green one. Both fell to the ground, and Stitch tumbled free, rolling to a stop at Jack's feet.

Teal'c stepped out of the woods, zat arm still extended. "Are you well, O'Neill?"

"Yeah, fine," Jack managed numbly. Looking down, he watched Stitch stumble to his feet, staggering around in a drunken circle before banging into the colonel's legs. He would have fallen again if Jack hadn't reached down and scooped him into the air.

"Where's Daniel?" he asked again, shaking Stitch and staring him straight in the eye.

To his surprise, the alien gave him a mournful look and cast its eyes first skyward, then at the zatted would-be captors. "Gone," Stitch whispered, ears flattening against his skull.

"Gone where?" Seeing that Stitch was struggling to find the words to answer him, Jack set Stitch down and walked over to the other two aliens. Nudging the larger one none-too-gently with his foot, he asked again, "Where's Daniel?"

"Who?" the bigger one asked.

"Don't interact with him," mumbled the skinny one, then yelped and cowered when Teal'c pointed the zat at him again. "We surrender, we surrender!"

"Uh, sorry," the larger alien began, "we do not know anyone by this--" He abruptly broke off, swallowing and blinking his four eyes when Teal'c swung the zat to cover him.

"Daniel!" Jack shouted emphatically, seeing red. "Little boy, dark blonde hair, the bluest eyes you've ever seen, and hangs around with that _thing!_" He pointed sharply at Stitch, who cringed again.

The bigger alien sighed. "We know of him."

"Bring... him.. back!"

"Uh, no... we can't do that!" the skinny one protested. "That would be a misuse of Galactic resour--"

His companion silenced him with a meaty paw, then reached down and hoisted Stitch in the air. "Problem is, we're just here for him." At the big guy's words, the furry blue alien seemed to shrink further, ears and antennae plastered against his skull in an expression of abject guilt.

"Perhaps so," Teal'c began, "but your presence here has resulted in the disappearance of a human child."

"The _kidnapping_ of a child," Jack corrected. "Some great big gray guy stomped through the woods here trying to cart off Stitch and Daniel in a bag, and while _he_--" Jack jabbed a finger at Stitch "--managed to get away, Daniel's locked up on that guy's spaceship and headed for only _you_--" the finger pointed at the two interlopers "--know where!"

"That must be Captain Gantu!" exclaimed the green alien.

"I don't care _who_ he is!"

"He is commander of Galactic Federation Police," the other alien explained, setting Stitch down and shaking his head slowly. "He will go to hyperspace as soon as he clears orbit. I do not think there is anything we _can _do."

The colonel clenched his fists, wanting to fly into a rage and pound on whichever alien was closest... well, not Teal'c. All this time, Jack had been letting Daniel hang around with Stitch--or whatever his name really was--blissfully unaware that the furball was apparently an interstellar criminal wanted so desperately, his government had sent two separate extraction forces after him!

"Team."

Surprised, Jack turned and looked at Teal'c, who merely raised an eyebrow and directed his attention downward at Stitch.

"You said, we made... a good team," Stitch clarified in his strange, halting voice, "when rowing... boat. Daniel said... team is family... and we don't leave--"

"--Our people behind," Jack finished with him, eyeing Stitch with surprise.

"Yeah," Stitch grinned, nodding his head vigorously. Suddenly, he turned and chattered something off in a foreign language.

"What?!" the big alien roared, lunging for Stitch and wrapping a massive paw around the comparatively tiny creature. "After all you put me through, you expect me to help you just like that? Just like _that?!_"

"Ih!" Stitch answered.

"Fine." Digging into the satchel over his shoulder, he produced a slender slip of metal and unlocked the cuffs around Stitch's arms.

"Fine?" the skinny alien protested. "You're doing what he says?"

"Uh, he's... very persuasive," the bigger one answered sheepishly.

Jack exchanged an incredulous look with Teal'c, whose eyebrows seemed to be performing acrobatic feats. He turned back to the tableau before him just in time to hear the word "rescue".

"You're going to help after all?" Jack asked.

"Ih!" Stitch replied cheerfully.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Whee! Jack, Teal'c, Stitch, Jumba, and Pleakley to the rescue! 


	50. Chapter 50

Part 50

Dejected and feeling very, _very _alone, Daniel wrapped his arms around his knees and silently watched Minnesota get smaller and smaller. Soon, the forests and lakes were hidden behind cloud cover, and all he had left to do was sit and contemplate his grim future.

Stitch's actions and that of the two aliens at the cabin now made more sense, unfortunately. The blue alien Daniel had come to think of as a friend was apparently a wanted criminal, and the three aliens were bounty hunters of some sort, there to collect the runaway and return him for execution. Many of the more enlightened races in the galaxy didn't believe in the death penalty, which had Daniel more than a little concerned about what might happen to him once the ship in which he was trapped reached its destination and it was discovered that Stitch had escaped capture.

Closing his eyes, Daniel attempted to comfort himself with images of his friends, calling up memories of their past rescues of captured comrades. Even though he had, on occasion, been left behind by his teammates _despite_ their motto, he felt an unexplainable confidence that Jack would leave no stone unturned until he found him. The only question which remained was, would he get there in time?

Sniffling loudly, he drew his forearm across his nose and loudly cleared his throat. He would meet his fate bravely, if that was the case. He'd do his best to try to convince his captor this was all a big misunderstanding and that his having harbored a fugitive had only been because he hadn't known better. If diplomacy and logic failed him, then Daniel figured he could just fall back on pleading, begging, and childish charm to try to get himself out of his predicament.

Jack always did say he was good at groveling...

Course of action determined, Daniel opened his eyes to see how far away from Earth the ship had already traveled, and was surprised to see fluffy white clouds outside his prison. Had they not even reached orbit yet?

Suddenly, a thin red line pierced the layer of clouds, rising dramatically like the dorsal fin of huge flying shark. It continued to rise a second longer, then began to tip from vertical to horizontal. As it lowered, the rest of the "shark" came into view: a huge red aircraft, vaguely reminiscent of a commercial jet, but with a "nose" which vaguely resembled Darth Vader's helmet.

And there, waving at him from the cockpit window was a tiny shape which looked like Stitch. He was joined soon after by two larger figures who could only be Jack and Teal'c. Smiling hopefully, Daniel gave a shy wave back.

A loud beep and squawk filled the confines of the small capsule, followed by a rumbled curse. "Stupid small buttons," grumbled the voice of his captor, obviously having difficulty with the controls of his ship.

"_Clearance is granted on vector C-12_," announced a pleasant-but-bland female voice, reminding Daniel of the voice mail greeter at his bank in Colorado.

"Connect me to the Grand Councilwoman," the kidnapper/bounty hunter boomed.

If the situation wasn't so serious, Daniel might've snickered. All this time, his abductor had been waiting to leave the plan until all the bureaucratic red tape was cleared? He waggled his fingers at the red ship again as it pulled away from behind his captor and to the side.

"_Gantu, what's going on?_" asked a matronly-sounding voice.

"I thought you'd like to know that the little abomination is--"

Daniel blamed it on Jack... who else would have had the impudence to make an alien spaceship broadcast a signal to the tune of "La Cucaracha". Of course, Stitch had impudence in spades, too: the little alien currently was currently standing on his head, waggling his butt in the air at the pilot of Daniel's ship.

Gantu made a noise of surprise. "_Yes, Captain?_" dragged out the voice of the aforementioned Grand Councilwoman. Daniel knew the tone she took very well, having heard it from a number of school teachers when he was a child. It practically _dripped_ with disbelief and impatience.

Adding insult to injury, the wing of the red vessel nudged Gantu's ship, sending Daniel tumbling onto his back and no doubt rattling the alien pilot. Quickly plastering himself to the glass again, Daniel imagined he could see Jack gesturing wildly as he undoubtedly berated his own ship's pilot for the dangerous maneuver.

"I'll call you back..." growled Gantu, and the vessel jerked into a tight turn.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Oh, the evils of RL, but thanks to a snow day, I'm nearly finished with another part, too! Unfortunately, I have to work an extra day this week: at a nice Italian restaurant, EVERYONE works Valentine's Day... 


	51. Chapter 51

Part 51

Teal'c was impressed by the piloting ability of the alien known as Jumba, despite the foolhardy nudge he'd directed his ship to give that of Daniel Jackson's captor. Such an action risked harming the very reason for which they were pursuing this vessel, and O'Neill was perfectly justified in giving Jumba a thorough verbal assault. Throughout it all, the whiny Pleakley hid in the rear passenger seats of the spacecraft, speaking on his communication device to his mother and doing his best to ignore the goings-on.

He turned his attention back to the ship's radar, noting instantly that the ship they had pursued was now pursuing _them_. "O'Neill," he cautioned.

"Crap," the colonel answered.

"Hold on!" Jumba warned only a fraction of a second before he threw the spacecraft into a sudden roll. Teal'c was pitched against a bulkhead and O'Neill slammed into him. In the rear of the ship, Pleakley wailed before having his own close encounter with a wall.

"Nice warning!" O'Neill sniped. Quickly, he grabbed for one of the two seats flanking the pilot's chair and strapped himself in securely. Teal'c thought it was a wise decision and took the other chair for himself.

"Don't worry, is all part of plan!" assured Jumba. "We are professionals." He then looked down, and Teal'c followed his gaze to see Stitch sharpening his teeth on a throttle lever. "Hey! Get that out of your mouth!"

O'Neill pounded his forehead with the heels of his palms. "I knew I should've called the General for back-up," he groaned.

"Indeed," Teal'c answered, bracing himself as the ship made another tight turn to evade the weapons fire coming at them from the ship in pursuit. "Is this vessel armed?"

Jumba scoffed. "Of course not, this passenger craft! Only weapon Galactic Federation let me have was plasma cannon, and that already bite dust."

"What?!" O'Neill roared. "They sent you after Stitch with only a pea shooter and a puddle jumper?"

Jumba grimaced. "Let's just say they don't trust me with guns... not that I blame them!"

"Oh, great!"

"Now, I could _build_ something, maybe--" he trailed off at the glower Teal'c gave him "--but we not have time for that!"

One shot got a little _too _close, piercing a hole through the rear compartment and sending Pleakley fleeing for the relative safety of one of the overhead luggage compartments. Teal'c didn't particularly like the screechy-voiced alien, but he found the demonstration of his flexibility to be rather amusing, and it might even have been funny under different circumstances.

"Hold on!" the larger alien warned again, this time waiting a full second before making a tight, gravity-defying turn. He sent the ship into a dive, pulling up just inches above the tree line. Teal'c glanced out the window and saw Gantu's ship bounce off a particularly tall tree before leveling off.

"Your actions are endangering Daniel Jackson's life," he warned, shooting another threatening glare at Jumba.

"What? Oh, sorry." He pulled back on the ship's controls, slowing the vessel just enough to pull just barely ahead of the smaller craft. "Okay, is show time!"

Cackling gleefully, Stitch climbed down off the back of the colonel's chair and crawled over to the hatch. At Jumba's nod, Stitch pulled the lever and was sucked out the door. Teal'c couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard maniacal laughter echoing through the sudden roar of the wind.

At that moment, the ship's computer kindly informed them that the cabin had become depressurized, and dropped oxygen masks from compartments in the ceiling.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Oi... nutty days at work here lately. Also, since I haven't mentioned it to date (though I'm not really sure why not!), several of my stories have been nominated in the 2007 Stargate Fan Awards. Head on over to stargatefanawards dot com and check out the many, many, many, MANY nominees! 


	52. Chapter 52

Part 52

Cackling with delight, Stitch contorted and stretched his body, riding the air currents. Sailing was fun, but skydiving was _way_ better! Since it was going to be a painfully abrupt stop at the bottom if he missed his target, he reined in his enjoyment just enough, and managed to plaster himself against the navigation bubble of the ship passing below him.

"Hello, Ugly!" he cried in gleeful greeting, reveling in the startled jump his sudden appearance provoked from Captain Gantu. Ignoring the big alien for the moment, he crawled across the dome and around to the rear of the ship, where the pod holding Daniel was located.

The big grin on the boy's face made Stitch feel almost four feet tall... maybe taller. There was no time to waste on being friendly, though, so Stitch set to work slashing at the clear pod casing, trying to weaken it enough to smash through it. Jumba had already taken up a position lower than Gantu's ship, ready to "catch" Stitch and his friend once Daniel had been freed.

Unfortunately, while Gantu was a big, dumb idiot, he wasn't entirely stupid. The thrusters on the ship suddenly swivelled inward, leaving Stitch in the middle of their inferno-like blast. He was unable to maintain his grip on the pod, and fell away from the ship.

This was gonna _hurt..._

"Er, the general says to remind you that you still 'owe Georgie H one'," Sam shrugged, completely at-loss as to how Officer Bubbles knew General Hammond.

"I see," Bubbles answered, eyebrow raising in that Teal'c-like way. "How long until the medical evacuation arrives?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but broke off when she heard a strange sound. It sounded like something wailing, followed by the crash of foilage, and more of the noise. Another crash came, then something blue and moving fast bounced off the ground a dozen feet away, bounced again, then rolled end-over-end until it came to a stop at the very surprised major's feet.

"Stitch?" she gaped, recognizing the groaning, furry form..

"Ah, yes," Bubbles remarked dryly. "Young Daniel's 'dog'."

"Yeah..." She bit her lip. "Consider him pretty much classified, too." Crouching down, she cautiously extended a hand toward the groaning alien. "Stitch? Stitch, have you seen Daniel?"

The 'dog' groaned again and sat up, rubbing at its eyes with one set of paws. Somehow, in the time since Sam had last seen the creature, it had grown an extra pair of arms, two cute little antennae, and row of soft spikes down its back. If Bubbles hadn't had any previous suspicions about Stitch's extraterrestrial nature, he _surely_ did now.

"Dan-yul!" Stitch shouted, scrambling to his hind paws.

"Whoa, easy!" Sam exclaimed, holding out her hands to ward off the frantic alien. "Have you seen Daniel? Do you know where he is?"

Stitch's ears flattened to his skull, giving him a rather contrite appearance. "Sn-snatched," he rasped. "Bad rescue."

"What about the colonel? Teal'c?"

"With Jumba and... and... Whiney." At Sam's look of confusion, Stitch pointed upward. "Ship."

Following his claw, Sam spotted two specks--one black, one red--chasing one another across the partly-cloudy sky. "They're up _there?_"

"Ih," Stitch agreed. Dropping his paw, he began scampering across the clearing, investigating the tents, boxes, and bikes brought by the NID agents. When he caught sight of the aluminum boat pulled up on the shore of the lake, he got very excited and began to dash about madly, gathering scraps of metal and wood. Sam and Officer Bubbles could only watch in amazement as the furry creature rapidly assembled a ramp at the water's edge. Once completed, the strong alien shoved the construction until one end extended out into the water. The other end was curved upward, like a skateboarder's ramp, and Sam wondered why Stitch had built it that way: it wasn't very useful as a boat ramp.

Stitch then zipped over to the boat and began fiddling with the outboard motor. He made a number of grunts of dissatisfaction before stomping off. He located one of the dirt bikes and began to rev the motor on it, sounding considerably more pleased with the power of the motor.

Something clicked in Sam's head. Ramp. Boat. Motor. Grinning broadly, she dug into her jacket pocket for her multitool and began to pry open the almost-invisible seams on the zat. Ignoring the questioning looks Bubbles and even the trussed-up NID agents were giving her, she extracted the power source from the weapon and pitched the rest of the parts into a plastic grocery sack found in one of the tents.

"You think this will help?" she grinned, squatting next to Stitch.

The little blue creature's eyes lit up, reflecting the green glow of the liquid naquada power source. "Oooooh!" he replied approvingly.

Twenty minutes later, the astrophysicist and her four-armed assistant had cobbled together the world's most powerful outboard motor from the original boat motor, the engines of two dirt bikes, the naquada core from zat, cannibalized parts from the AM/FM radio in one of the tents, an electric toothbrush, and duct tape.

"You have only one shot at this," Sam reminded Stitch as she and Bubbles helped tow the boat to the opposite end of the lake from the ramp. "The motor may overheat, tear itself apart, or even explode." She paused thoughtfully. "Probably all three."

"Ya, ya," Stitch muttered, waving her off dismissively. "Show time?"

"Show time," Sam grinned, handing the improvised extra-long engine cord to the blue monster. He dutifully hopped into the boat and crawled to the front of it while the major and the conservation officer beat a hasty retreat. Once they were almost halfway back to the camp, Sam heard the choked growl of the motor's start, followed by a high-pitched whine as the modifications kicked into gear. An enormous plume of water shot up from behind the boat as it rocketed forward across the lake, accompanied by the Dopplar-shifted gleeful howling of its small passenger.

The boat hit the ramp and shot skyward, rising as high as the still-falling jet of displaced water before the motor exploded spectacularly. The blast knocked Sam and Bubbles to the ground, but as they shook themselves off, they heard a fading, "Yee-hah!"

Sam thought Georgie H would be proud.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Well, classes are out for the semester, so I'm _slowly_ catching up on all that needs catching up! Hugs go out to everyone who voted in the 2007 Stargate Fan Awards: my stories "Lonely at the Top" and "Honor Amongst Thieves" came away with first-place prizes, as did my music vid "Promises to Keep"!


	53. Chapter 53

Part 53

With a shriek of joy, Stitch flew through the air at impressive speeds, heading straight for Gantu's ship. His momentum was so great that he tore through the bubble, landing on the console in front of the surprised enforcer.

Gantu recovered quickly from his shock and brought a meaty fist down on the panel even as the cackling experiment dodged his blows. "You're vile!" he bellowed, and punctuated each of his next statements with another smash. "You're foul! You're _flawed!_"

The third landed on Stitch, but the hardy alien merely lifted Gantu's hand off him. "Also cute and fluffy!" he reminded the enormous captain, before throwing Gantu through the bubble. Jumba's piloting was swift and accurate, bringing his own ship immediately beneath the falling behemoth and catching him on one of the passenger ship's wings.

Not one to admit defeat, Gantu rose and began firing his personal blaster at his ship, but Stitch ably dodged the blasts on his way around to the pod. One blaster shot ripped off a booster rocket, and Stitch knew it wouldn't take much more to destroy the ship completely. Deciding to ignore a more delicate extraction in favor of the swiftest one, Stitch head-butted the capsule in the spot where his claws had previously weakened it, and the glass gave way.

"You came back!" Daniel gasped from inside the pod, reaching a hand out to Stitch.

"Nobody gets left behind," Stitch reminded him.

Grinning broadly, Daniel enfolded him in a hug, and Stitch decided he could get used to this... but first, they had to get off Gantu's doomed ship. Hooking one clawed paw in the boy's clothes, the alien leapt off, trusting Jumba to once again catch him. Daniel yelled in terror, not liking the sudden freefall, but his cry was cut off by the sudden explosion of Gantu's ship.

When the smoke cleared, Stitch had two hands cligning to the wing of the red spaceship, one still holding Daniel, and the fourth keeping Gantu from falling off the ship.

Oh, yeah, he was good.

* * *

The red spaceship bumped gently down on the surface of a small lake not far from his cabin, and Jack O'Neill was already waiting at the hatch to drop a self-inflating raft into the water. Ordinarily, a lifeboat like this would be darn-near useless for escaping a _space_ship, but for once, Jack thanked the bizarre alien bureaucracy that insisted on stocking their passenger ships for _every_ conceivable emergency landing.

Pitching the raft's mooring line to Teal'c, Jack jumped lightly down in the bottom of the boat. "Daniel!" he called out immediately, looking toward the wing to which the mini-archaeologist and his pet alien had been clinging.

"Jack?" Daniel called back, scrambling to his feet. Without even thinking of any possible consequences--like, say, missing, or even knocking Jack and himself both into the water--Daniel launched himself toward the boat. Fortunately, the colonel was able to catch him, and sank to his knees in the bottom of the boat, clutching his best friend to his chest and trying not to sob like a baby. Daniel, however, had no such qualms about letting the waterworks flow, and quite happily indulged himself in a few well-deserved tears of joy.

"Spacemonkey," Jack grinned at last, pulling back to ruffle the kid's hair in a repeat of the _last_ time he'd called Daniel by that odd nickname. "I can't leave you alone for two minutes, can I?"

"No," Daniel agreed, swiping at the tears and snot smearing his face. "You're stuck with me, Jack."

"Thank goodness!" Jack wrapped his kid in another strong hug, and didn't remember his audience until Daniel squirmed to free himself. Grinning, he released his hold and motioned to Teal'c. "Come on down, Big Guy." The Jaffa cocked an eyebrow in response, nodding his head back toward the wing of the ship.

Having just gotten the big shark-looking guy settled on top of the plane, the alien Stitch was peering cautiously over the edge of the wing, watching Jack and Daniel with an odd look on his furry countenance. "You too, Stitch," Jack ordered, patting the air-filled seat next to him. "Watch the claws, though, will ya?"

Nodding, Stitch made a leap for the raft, but his greater mass compared to Daniel almost knocked Jack overboard. Fortunately for them both--and especially for Stitch--his balance was regained and the blue furball settled into the bottom of the boat. Watching Daniel enfold the alien in a hug nearly as enthusiastic as the one Jack had just laid on the kid, Jack found himself offering Stitch a deliberate nod of approval. "You did good, Stitch."

Like the dog he'd once pretended to be, Stitch found himself so happy at those words, he wagged all over.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Just two more chapters... who'd have thunk?


	54. Chapter 54

Part 54

After Teal'c and Jumba pried Agent Pleakley out of his overhead compartment hiding place, the three aliens climbed into the raft as well, leaving only Sharkie--aka Gantu--unable to climb aboard. Eyeing the large alien, Jack suggested he could _walk_ to shore, and sure enough, the big guy's feet touched the bottom of the shallow lake with his head just above water.

No sooner had the boat bumped ashore, than hands reached out and snatched Stitch into the air, wrapping cuffs around the furry alien's front paws. "We have Six-Two-Six," the newcomer announced, spinning around and holding the captive up before yet _another_ alien, one elegantly clad in a black-and-gold caped suit.

"Put him down!" Jack snapped.

"Leave him alone!" Daniel agreed.

"Desist in your efforts," added Teal'c.

The tall, slender alien opened its--her mouth--to speak, but was delayed by the sudden arrival of Carter and Bubbles on the scene.

"Daniel, are you okay?" Sam asked, holding her pistol at the ready but carefully pointing to the ground. Bubbles apparently _had_ no weapon, at least not at the moment.

"I'm fine, Sam," Daniel answered. "But Stitch--"

"Grand Councilwoman," huffed Gantu, splashing ashore, "let me explain--"

"Silence!" the female alien snapped, turning toward the behemoth. "I am retiring you, Captain Gantu." The _former_ captain gasped in shock.

Pleakley staggered foward, looking a bit woozy for his extended stay in the cramped carry-on compartment. "Actually, credit for the capture goes to--"

"Goes to _me_," the Grand Councilwoman interrupted.

"Excuse me?" Jack demanded, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll be lucky if you end up on a fluff trog farm after we sort this thing out," the Grand Councilwoman continued, ignoring Jack's outburst. Whatever the a heck a "fluff trog" was, the threat was apparently ample to cowe not only Pleakley, but Jumba, as well.

"Uh... I think I should..." Jumba began, turning and moving slowly back toward the raft.

"You! You're the cause of all this!" the leader snapped. "If it wasn't for your Experiment Six-Two-Six, _none_ of this--"

"Stitch."

Jack whipped his head in surprise, the smallest alien's movements having gone unnoticed due to all the drama everywhere else. Stitch was standing on the ramp of the Grand Councilwoman's ship, wearing a similar look on his face to the one Daniel wore when Jack announced it was time to leave an offworld dig site.

"What?" the female alien asked, turning around in surprise.

"My name Stitch," Stitch insisted.

"'Stitch', then," she agreed, turning back to berate Jumba some more. "If it wasn't for Stitch..." She trailed off, turning back to the aforementioned blue furball in surprise.

"Does Stitch have to go in the ship?" Stitch asked calmly.

"Yes," the Grand Councilwoman replied slowly.

"Can Stitch say goodbye?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," Stitch replied, bobbing his little head in respect to the leader. He waddled down the ramp and over to Daniel, whose own face had taken on an expression Jack knew _so _well. This was the face that said, "I've faced down Unas bigger than you." The set of his tiny jaw softened a little as Stitch approached, but Jack knew Daniel wasn't going to take the loss of his new friend without a fight.

"Who are you?" the Grand Councilwoman asked, taking in Jack, Daniel, Teal'c, and Sam with surprise.

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, SG-1," Jack announced. "This is my team, Major Samantha Carter, Doctor Daniel Jackson, and Teal'c."

"This is my family," added Stitch. "I found it... all on my own."

"We found _you_, buddy," Jack reminded him.

"'If you love something, let it go,'" quoted Daniel. "If it comes back to you it's yours. I let Stitch go... and he came back. He's ours, and we're his, and you _can't_ take him away from us!"

In the face of such pint-sized determination, the Grand Councilwoman--like nearly every other female who'd ever been faced with the Blue Eyes of Doom--melted. "Our laws are absolute," she sighed, looking rather unhappy with the situation. "I cannot change what the Council has decided."

"Daniel," Bubbles offered quietly. "Didn't you buy that thing at the shelter?"

Daniel gasped. "Give me your wallet, Jack!"

"What?"

"Just do it!" Eyeing his friend skeptically, the colonel dug out his billfold and handed it to the kid. Daniel opened it immediately and began rifling through the contents, emerging triumphantly with a slip of pink paper. The wallet was absent-mindedly dropped on the ground, and with a groan, Jack forced his knees to let him squat down and retrieve it.

Surging forward, Daniel stepped in front of the alien leader and brandished his paper like a weapon. "Excuse me!"

"Yes?" the Grand Councilwoman asked.

"Three days ago, Jack and I bought Stitch at an animal shelter," Daniel began, unfolding the sheet. He pointed to the signatures at the bottom of the adoption form. "See these? That means we _own_ him. If you take him, you're _stealing_."

Inwardly, Jack cheered. What better way to fight bureaucracy than with more bureaucracy?

As a smile crossed the Grand Councilwoman's face, Officer Bubbles muttered, "Aliens are all about rules."

The Grand Councilwoman, although lacking any visible ears, heard the conservation officer's comment and turned to regard him. "You look familiar."

"Yeah, he looks like him," Jack joked, pointing at Teal'c.

"CIA. Roswell. 1973."

"The Roswell Incident was in 1947," corrected the Jaffa, sci-fi and conspiracy theory buff that he was.

"The original one, yes. There was another incident in 1973," Bubbles corrected.

"_Another_ one?" Jack questioned.

"Ah, yes," the Grand Councilwoman replied to Bubbles. "You had hair then." Turning to one of her crew, she announced, "Take note of this: the creature known as Experiment Six-Two-Six is henceforth recognized as 'Stitch', and has been sentenced to life in exile. His sentence shall be served out under the custody of--" She paused.

"SG-1," Daniel supplied, bouncing a little.

"Thank you. His sentence shall be served out under the custody of SG-1, and, as caretakers of the alien lifeform Stitch, this team--"

Grinning, Daniel corrected, "Family."

"--Family is now under the official protection of the United Galactic Federation."

Jack pumped his fist in the air. "Take that, NID!"

"And the Goa'uld," added Teal'c, looking smug.

"The Goa'uld?" questioned the Grand Councilwoman. "You know of them?"

"We've run into them a few times," chimed in Carter.

The female alien looked dismayed. "Earth is a protected wildlife preserve under Galactic law. They are forbidden from even _approaching_ this planet, let alone contacting its inhabitants."

"Yes, well, we're also a Protected Planet under the Asgard treaty, but that hasn't stopped them either," Jack shrugged.

"I see." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "In that case, we'll be checking in from time to time to ensure that Stitch is still safely contained and supervised. Agent Beakly, give the boy your communicator."

"My communicator?!" Pleakley squawked. "But how will I--?"

"You can talk to your mother _off_ company time," the Grand Councilwoman snapped. "Gantu, let's go." Turning to one of her crew, she muttered, "Don't let Joomla or Blinky get on my ship."

* * *

Author's Notes:  
In case I forgot to mention (which I'm sure I did), my personal site is back up and running after its month-long hiatus. The LittleVerse, however, is down for the moment due to a version upgrade which went way, WAY wrong. (Thankfully, I have everything backed up, but is taking a while to get it reloaded...)


	55. Chapter 55

Part 55

The Grand Councilwoman's ship blasted off for space just barely before the arrival of the med-evac for the NID agents. Jack took great pride in telling the wounded bad guys about the latest alien protection garnered for the planet, and that its continuance was contingent upon both Daniel _and _Stitch remaining with SG-1.

"So keep your filthy paws off both of 'em," he gloated.

Sam, meanwhile, was staring at Bubbles. "CIA?" she questioned. The conservation officer was _definitely_ more than he seemed to be.

"Former," Bubbles corrected. "Saved the planet once: convinced an alien race that mosquitoes were an endangered species."

"If only," replied Teal'c, slapping at one of the blood suckers as it buzzed around him.

"Just once?" Sam grinned. "So I guess that's when you met Georgie H?"

"You assume correctly," Bubbles nodded, "however the details of the circumstances remain, as yet, classified." He rolled his shoulders. "I should return to my patrol. Have a good day, Major. Colonel. Daniel. Teal'c."

"Thanks for your help," Jack offered, extending his hand. The conservation officer accepted the shake, then readjusted his sunglasses on his nose. "I don't suppose I need to remind you that _this_ is all classified?"

Bubbles' lips quirked. "A minor incident with a group of poachers. The Air Force was conducting a reconnaissance drone retrieval operation in the area at the time, and rendered assistance. As the poachers were _also_ in possession of classified material stolen from the crash site, they were remanded to the custody of the U.S. Air Force."

"Sounds good," Jack agreed. After Bubbles departed through the trees _en route_ to his truck, the colonel turned to Sam. "'Georgie H'?"

She shrugged. "Apparently, he and General Hammond go way back."

Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing around the wrecked camp. "Have a little fun, did we?"

Sam beamed. "Shot a few bad guys, built the world's fastest boat _and_ got to blow it up... add in a pedicure and a caramel macchiato, and this just might turn out to be a perfect day." Taking in the strange looks she was receiving, she stared back at her teammates. "What?"

--

Alarms squawked, warning everyone in the immediate vicinity that the Stargate was about to open. Stepping into the 'Gate room, Colonel Jack O'Neill hefted his P90 a little and gave General Hammond a jaunty wave. This was SG-1's first mission post-Kelowna, and Jack was nervous as all get-out. For five years, his team had been four--himself, Daniel, Carter, and Teal'c--but the accident had changed everything. With Daniel now pint-sized, there was no way he could join his team on first contact missions.

Not without extra protection anyway.

"You two ready for this?" he grinned, glancing down at Daniel and Stitch. Daniel wore a child-sized version of the team uniform, while Stitch had a custom-made olive drab jumpsuit which accomodated his extra set of arms. Both proudly displayed the SG-1 patches on their shoulders.

"Jack, it's just a trip to the Land of Light to check on Jumba and Pleakley," Daniel reminded him, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but it's your first trip through the 'Gate shrimp-sized."

"I'll be fine."

Jack grinned and ruffled the boy's hair. "Of course you will." Looking to the blue alien, he asked, "What about you, Stitch? You gonna be ready if Daniel needs you?" Stitch nodded happily. "And what if he wants to stay and play with his rocks when it's time to head home?"

Cackling gleefully, Stitch grabbed Daniel and hoisted the boy over his head. "Put me down!" Daniel shouted, kicking his legs, but not _quite_ able to reach the ground.

Jack chuckled. "Thanks, Stitch. You can put him down now." The look of indignation Daniel shot him was so adorable, the colonel couldn't help but ruffle the kid's hair again. The affectionate gesture drew a smile from the little archaeologist, and he settled for just lightly punching Jack's thigh.

The Stargate opened, and the spectacular _kawoosh!_ elicited an excited "Ooooooh!" from an appreciative Stitch. Then SG-1--Colonel Jack O'Neill, Doctor Daniel Jackson, Major Samantha Carter, Teal'c, _and_ Stitch--headed through the event horizon.

The End!

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Thank you to everyone for taking this wild and crazy little crossover journey with me! Special shout-outs must be made, though: Bug Eyed Monster, whose innocent comment spawned this fluffy terror; the insane gang at Little Stargate; Nyx Ro, the perennial cheerleader; Disney, for giving us the wonderful world of _Lilo & Stitch_; and my cat Rusty, for being his inspiringly cute and fluffy litle self.


End file.
